THE 

BLACK 
HEART 

BY   SYDNEY 
H  O  RLER 


4 ' 


THE   BLACK   HEART 


THE 

BLACK  HEART 


BY 

SYDNEY  HORLER 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  ORDER  OF  THE  OCTOPUS, 
VIVANTI,  ETC. 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEWYORK 


ALl  RIGHTS  RESERVED.  PRINTED  IN 
THE  UNITED  STATES  AT  THB  COON- 
TRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


TO 
H.    RUSSELL   STANNARD 

IN   MEMORY  OF  THE   DAYS 
WHEN   WE   WENT  LAUGHING 
DOWN   FLEET   STREET 


2136290 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FACE 

I.  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CHANCES i 

II.  THE  GIRL  IN  BLACK 9 

III.  THE  MYSTERY  MESSAGE 20 

IV.  BAGDAD— OFF  JERMYN  STREET 26 

V.  CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO 40 

VI.  A  ROOM  IN  BERKELEY  SQUARE 56 

VII.  INTRODUCING  NAPOLEON  MILES 62 

VIII.  CHERTSEY  HAS  A  CALLER 70 

IX.  "THERE  IS  DANGER" 80 

X.  INITIATION 90 

XI.  AT  THE  CAFE  OF  THE  ROSY  DAWN 98 

XII.  THE  LOCKED  BOOK 106 

XIII.  MOVES  IN  THE  DARK 113 

XIV.  THE  NAPOLEONIC  TOUCH 127 

XV.  LADE  MEETS  HIS  MASTER 140 

XVI.  SHOCKSI 149 

XVII.  THE  THIRD  CUSHION 170 

XVIII.  BENISTY  REAPPEARS 179 

XIX.  AT  THE  GARE  DU  NORD 186 

XX.  RINEHART  AWAKENS 194 

XXI.  THE  CLOAKROOM  TICKET 206 

XXII.  IN  THE  CELLAR 216 

XXIII.  THE  VOICE  ON  THE  TELEPHONE 228 

XXIV.  THE  MEET 238 

XXV.  FACE  TO  FACE 248 

XXVI.  AT  THE  LAPIN  BLANC 253 

XXVII.  "M.  LE  CURE" 363 

XXVIII.  THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE 267 

XXIX.  BENISTY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND 281 

XXX.  THE  PRIEST  WHO  LEERED 288 

XXXI.  THE  CLEAN-UP                                                                          .    .  294 


THE   BLACK   HEART 


THE  BLACK  HEART 

Chapter  I 
THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CHANCES 

CHERTSEY,  as  he  left  the  place,  did  not  notice 
the  slim  form  of  the  man  who  came  gliding 
out  of  the  shadows. 

Such  thoughts  as  he  had  were  still  with  the  feverish 
and  hectic  scene  from  which  he  had  departed.  He 
recalled  the  mock-commiserative  look  on  the  face  of 
the  croupier,  as  the  man  raked  in  his  last  throw: 
"Monsieur  is  unlucky  to-night.  To-morrow  .  .  .  who 
knows?" 

He  had  laughed  at  the  moment.  If  there  was  one 
thing  certain  in  this  changing  world,  it  was  that  he 
wouldn't  return  to  the  ironically-named  gambling  hell 
which  went  by  the  bizarre  title  of  "The  House  of  a 
Thousand  Chances."  It  was  not  that  he  minded  losing 
the  money,  but  the  show  was  so  tawdry,  so  flatly  bor- 
ing, so  enormously  stale.  There  wasn't  a  thrill  in  a 
lifetime  there.  At  least,  that  had  been  his  experience, 
and  he  shouldn't  go  again. 

Lighting  a  cigarette,  the  man  who  had  just  lost 


2  THE  BLACK  HEART 

twenty  thousand  francs  in  a  remarkably  short  space  of 
time,  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  walked  at  a  quicker 
pace  down  the  Grand  Boulevard.  Ten  minutes  at  the 
Cafe  de  la  Paix,  and  he  would  turn  in. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  Opera  House,  and 
the  glittering  lights  of  the  world-famous  Cosmopolitan 
rendezvous  could  be  plainly  seen,  the  man  shadowing 
the  unfortunate  gamester  had  been  joined  by  another. 
No  word  was  said  by  either,  but  the  first  man  pointed 
with  the  elegant  cane  he  was  carrying,  to  the  strolling 
figure  in  front,  and  his  companion  nodded.  Although 
a  close  observer  might  have  remarked  on  the  tense  ex- 
pression on  the  faces  of  both  these  stalkers,  they  seemed 
to  be  in  perfect  agreement.  They  were  used  to  shadow- 
ing men. 

Still  quite  unconscious  of  the  interest  which  his  de- 
parture from  the  gilded  gaming-den  had  occasioned, 
Gilbert  Chertsey  sat  down  at  an  unoccupied  table  out- 
side the  well-known  cafe,  and  ordered  a  nightcap.  Then, 
lighting  another  cigarette,  he  gave  himself  up  to  idle 
sight-seeing. 

There  was  plenty  to  occupy  his  mind.  The  night  was 
early  for  Paris — it  wanted  another  twenty  minutes  to 
midnight — and  the  spacious  boulevard  was  crowded. 
All  the  arresting  types  which  go  to  make  up  the  endless 
stream  of  humanity  in  perhaps  the  most  fascinating 
city  of  the  world,  were  to  be  seen  strolling  past — the 
immaculately-dressed  boulevardier,  with  an  ever-ap- 
preciative eye  for  a  pretty  face  (and  there  were  many 
such  on  this  sparkling  early  autumn  night)  ;  the  loose- 


HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CHANCES  3 

lipped  apache,  prowling  like  the  human  wolf  he  was, 
side  by  side  with  the  type  of  pretentious  art-student 
whom  Chertsey  had  imagined  was  clean  out  of  fashion ; 
the  trim-ankled,  saucy- featured  midinettes  walking 
arm-in-arm,  their  day's  work  forgotten,  greeting  Life 
with  a  merry,  pealing  laugh  and  ever  ready  to  embark 
upon  an  adventure. 

There  were  many  nationalities  besides  the  native 
French.  A  tall,  blond  Russian  had  for  his  neighbour 
an  inscrutable  Japanese;  sallow-tinted  South  Ameri- 
cans rubbed  shoulders  with  Magyars  and  other  brood- 
ing figures  from  the  Central  European  States.  Now 
and  then,  to  add  a  splash  of  sombre  colour  to  an  already 
richly-variegated  human  palette,  a  loose-trousered 
Senegalese  came  lounging  past,  his  rolling  eyes  avid 
with  excited  interest.  The  most  intriguing  woman  in 
that  varied  parade  was  a  half-caste  negress. 

A  stimulating  scene,  and  Chertsey  was  sitting  in  the 
front  row  of  the  stalls.  Yet  he  frowned. 

"Each  one  has  a  thundering  good  story  tucked  away 
inside  him,"  he  muttered,  regarding  the  shifting  crowd 
with  steady  eyes ;  "but  how  to  get  at  it?  Good  Lord !  In 
the  heart  of  Paris  .  .  .  and  I  haven't  an  idea  worth 
a  damn  ...  !"  It  seemed  a  melancholy  reflection 
to  this  lean,  fit-looking  man  of  thirty,  and  he  yawned, 
as  though  existence  had  become  for  him  a  desert  of  in- 
tolerable dreariness. 

"Your  pardon,  M'sieur,"  remarked  a  voice  at  his 
elbow. 

Chertsey  turned  to  find  that  the  other  two  seats 


4  THE  BLACK  HEART 

at  the  small  table  were  now  occupied.  The  man  who 
had  addressed  him  was  evidently  the  ponderous  person 
with  the  huge  black  beard  cut  square.  This  man  seemed 
to  possess  the  typical  Gallic  quality  of  being  a  striking 
combination  of  mental  alertness  and  physical  strength. 
Beyond  that  summing-up,  as  the  result  of  a  quick, 
casual  look,  Chertsey  didn't  allow  himself  to  speculate. 
True,  his  glance  also  took  in  the  ponderous  person's 
companion,  but  as  the  latter  seemed  a  thoroughly  non- 
descript individual,  having  nothing  at  all  remarkable 
about  him,  he  paid  no  further  heed. 

After  muttering  a  polite  platitude  in  reply,  he  re- 
lapsed into  his  former  brooding  attitude.  If  he  had 
not  been  so  completely  indifferent,  he  might  have 
moved  to  another  table.  In  the  tumultuous  days  that  fol- 
lowed, he  often  speculated  why  he  had  not  done  so. 

"Your  pardon,  M'sieur,  but  have  I  not  the  pleasure 
of  your  acquaintance?"  It  was  the  bearded  man  again. 
These  garrulous  Frenchmen.  .  .  . 

"It  is  my  misfortune,  but  I  am  afraid  you  haven't !" 
replied  Chertsey,  somewhat  bluntly.  What  did  this  fel- 
low want? 

"Ten  thousand  pardons,  M'sieur !  It  was  my  friend 
who  suggested  to  me  that  he  had  seen  you  at  play  in 
the  gaming-place  which  M.  de  Virgen  le  proprietaire 
is  pleased  to  call  'The  House  of  a  Thousand  Chances.' ' 

Chertsey  was  too  indolent-minded,  and  too  indif- 
ferent to  be  offended.  He  smiled  faintly  upon  the 
speaker. 

"Yes,    I   played   at   'The   House   of   a   Thousand 


HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CHANCES  5 

Chances'  to-night.  But  I  did  not  observe  your  friend 
there." 

The  bearded  man  laughed  deep  down  in  his  stomach. 

"Thibau,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  pale  shadow  of  a 
man  who  sat  on  his  right;  "he  is  not  one  that  is  seen. 
But  this  Thibau,  he  notices;  he  is  a  rare  one  for 
noticing.  ...  A  million  pardons  if  I  offend  again, 
M'sieur — but  Thibau  has  told  me  that  you  lost  heavily 
to-night?"  The  words  were  put  in  the  form  of  a  ques- 
tion, with  a  rising  inflection  of  the  voice. 

A  flush  crept  slowly  into  Chertsey's  face.  The  in- 
fernal impudence.  .  .  .  Then  he  smiled:  if  this  fel- 
low wanted  to  talk,  let  him  talk.  He  might  be  amusing. 

"I  was  quite  cleaned  out,"  he  replied;  "I  left  with 
just  two  francs.  It  will  be  sufficient  to  pay  for  my  drink 
and  a  tip  to  the  waiter.  'The  House  of  a  Thousand 
Chances'  was  not  rightly  named  in  my  case." 

The  ponderously-built  man  with  the  square-cut  beard 
looked  at  the  pale  shadow  who  was  his  companion. 
The  latter's  eyes  flickered  momentarily. 

"It  is  possible,  M'sieur,  that  although  999  chances 
went  amiss  in  that  house  to-night,  yet  one — and,  per- 
haps, who  knows? — it  may  be  a  very  good  one  from 
M'sieur's  point  of  view — was  provided." 

This  was  puzzling,  and  what  was  even  more  puzzling 
to  Chertsey  was  the  extraordinary  look  of  absorption 
on  both  the  faces  confronting  him.  He  noticed  with 
amazement  that  there  were  tiny  beads  of  perspiration 
on  the  forehead  of  the  big  man,  which  hadn't  been  there 
a  minute  before,  whilst  the  nostrils  of  his  insignificant 


6  THE  BLACK  HEART 

companion  were  distended  through,  no  doubt,  the  same 
mysterious  sense  of  excitement.  Perhaps  the  most  re- 
markable feature  of  the  whole  business  was  that  he 
actually  felt  himself  being  raised  from  the  slough  of 
unutterable  boredom  which  had  made  his  life  for  the 
past  week  an  almost  intolerable  burden. 

"You  talk  in  riddles,  M'sieur,"  he  remarked,  coldly. 
Although  on  the  brink  of  being  interested,  he  de- 
termined not  to  evidence  any  concern.  By  this  means 
he  would  the  more  speedily  get  an  idea  of  what  was  in 
the  speaker's  mind. 

The  man  leaned  farther  forward. 

"M'sieur,  I  will  speak  more  frankly.  If  you  are 
offended,  believe  me,  Thibau  and  I  mean  no  offence. 
So!  I  will  tell  you."  He  put  both  elbows  on  the  table, 
his  eyes  gleaming  and  his  very  beard  seeming  to  crackle 
with  excitement. 

"You  have  already  said  that  you  lost  all  your  money 
at  'The  House  of  a  Thousand  Chances'  to-night;  that 
you  were — what  is  the  phrase? — 'cleaned  out':  ah! 
that  is  good ;  'cleaned  out.'  "  He  laughed.  "Well,  my 
friend  Thibau  and  I  have  a  suggestion  to  make  whereby 
you  can  replenish  your  empty  pockets.  I  trust  you  are 
not  offended,  M'sieur?" 

Chertsey  laughed.  The  man's  earnestness  was  really 
comic.  And  yet  he  wanted  to  bestow  largesse,  not 
to  receive  it !  There  must  be  something  rummy  in  this. 
He  would  stay  to  listen. 

"Certainly  you  haven't  wounded  me  very  deeply 


HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CHANCES  7 

yet,  my  friend,"  he  replied;  "tell  me,  briefly,  what  is 
your  proposition?" 

Again  the  bearded  man  looked  at  his  companion, 
and  again  the  eyelids  of  that  pale  shadow  flickered 
momentarily. 

"M'sieur  is  young,  handsome,  no  doubt  of  a  roman- 
tic disposition?" 

"Well?"  encouraged  Chertsey,  half  satirically. 

The  other  rubbed  his  hands. 

"Now  we  begin  to  understand  each  other.  I  have  a 
proposition  to  make  which  will,  I  hope,  appeal  to  you, 
M'sieur.  It  will  be  well  paid,  and  you  may — Thibau 
thinks  it  is  highly  probable — have  certain  adventures." 

"In  other  words,  the  job  is  a  dangerous  one?  There 
is  even  death  in  it,  perhaps?" 

The  bearded  man  drew  back  before  this  very  blunt 
comment. 

"M'sieur  has  a  quick  mind,"  he  replied,  after  an- 
other look  at  his  silent  companion;  "but  it  travels  too 
far.  Death !  That  is  an  ugly  word,  M'sieur ;  I  pray  you 
not  to  use  it.  All  we — Thibau  and  I — propose  for  you 
to  do  is  to  go  to  London  and  take  up  your  residence 
in  a  certain  house  there  that  we  shall  name.  For  that, 
M'sieur,  we  pay  you  at  once  the  sum  of  ten  thousand 
francs." 

Chertsey  lit  another  cigarette.  Really,  this  was 
getting  better  than  he  had  supposed. 

"And  then  what?"  he  asked.  "I  mean,  what  hap- 
pens after  I  set  up  residence  in  this  house?  Do  I  just 
live  happily  ever  after  ?" 


8  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"That  is  just  what  we  shall  desire  you  to  do,  M'sieur. 
And  now,"  putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  pull- 
ing out  a  wallet,  "may  I  have  the  pleasure?" 

"One  moment;  you  are  in  too  much  of  a  hurry." 
Gilbert  Chertsey  held  up  his  hand. 

"I  should  rather  like  to  know,"  he  said,  "before  we 
go  any  further,  why  you  have  sufficient  trust  in  me,  a 
perfect  stranger,  to  hand  over,  for  the  most  flimsy  of 
reasons,  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  francs?" 

"M'sieur  is  a  man  of  honour." 

This  time  it  was  the  pale,  insignificant  Thibau  who 
spoke.  He  said  the  words  with  a  note  of  finality,  and 
as  though  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  added. 

The  man  who  had  been  paid  the  compliment,  bowed. 
He  had  already  made  up  his  mind,  but  he  did  not  think 
it  would  be  politic  to  appear  too  anxious. 

"M'sieur,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  bearded  giant, 
"I  never  come  to  a  decision  rashly.  I  will  now  go  back 
to  my  hotel,  sleep  on  your  proposition,  and  meet  you 
here  again  at  eleven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  if 
that  is  agreeable?" 

The  bearded  one  tried  to  hide  a  look  of  chagrin^ 
but  Thibau  replied:  "That  will  be  entirely  agreeable, 
M'sieur.  At  eleven,  then — come,  Lefarge." 

As  the  two  walked  away,  Gilbert  Chertsey,  just  to 
be  on  the  safe  side,  pinched  himself  to  make  sure  he 
was  awake. 


Chapter  II 
THE  GIRL  IN  BLACK 

IT  was  half-an-hour  after  midnight  when  he  re- 
turned to  his  hotel.  This  expensive  caravanserai 
was  not  the  lodging  that  the  average  person  would 
have  selected  for  a  ruined  gambler,  but  Gilbert  Chertsey 
appeared  to  have  no  qualms  as  he  entered  the  lift  which 
would  take  him  to  his  room.  He  was  entirely  master 
of  himself. 

There  was  only  one  other  occupant  of  the  lift.  This 
was  a  girl  whose  figure  was  enveloped  in  a  long  black, 
chiffon  velvet  cloak,  cut  very  full.  The  collar  of  this, 
he  noticed,  was  made  of  a  soft  black  fur,  and  was  so 
large  that  the  girl's  face,  snuggled  into  it,  looked  like 
a  tender  bud  protected  by  sheltering  leaves. 

One  other  thing  Chertsey  noticed :  although  so  little 
of  her  could  be  seen,  this  girl  was  not  only  very  beauti- 
ful, but  she  possessed  a  magnetic  charm  which  was  in- 
describable but  very  potent.  Chertsey  was  particularly 
susceptible  to  impressions,  and  almost  immediately  he 
was  conscious  of  this  girl's  vivid  personality.  Coming 
after  his  strange  talk  at  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  the  sight 
of  her  completely  jolted  him  out  of  his  former  bore- 
dom. 


io  THE  BLACK  HEART 

As  the  lift  stopped  at  his  floor,  the  girl  stepped  for- 
ward. He  stood  aside,  hoping  that  this  entrancing  per- 
son would  vouchsafe  him  a  glance.  As  she  was  staying 
in  the  hotel,  he  must  do  his  best  to  get  to  know  her 
the  next  day.  Far  from  being  a  philanderer,  and  usually 
somewhat  austere  in  his  relations  with  women,  he  now 
felt  that  he  would  give  almost  anything  to  be  able 
legitimately  to  make  this  girl's  acquaintance.  For  once 
in  his  life  he  would  not  allow  an  absurd  conventionality 
to  stand  in  the  way. 

And  then  the  girl  passed  him,  looking  straight  in 
front!  He  might  not  have  existed,  so  far  as  she  was 
concerned. 

Feeling  hot  about  the  collar  rather  than  crestfallen, 
Chertsey  left  the  lift.  It  did  not  add  to  his  peace  of 
mind  to  know  that  the  lift-boy  was  grinning  behind  his 
hand. 

As  he  stepped  out  into  the  corridor,  he  saw  that  the 
girl  was  ahead  of  him  and  passing  his  room.  While  he 
looked,  he  noticed  something  white  fall  from  her  hand 
to  the  carpet.  She  hastened  on,  apparently  unconscious 
of  her  loss. 

Chertsey  rushed  forward.  Here  was  the  very  chance 
for  which  he  had  been  praying !  Picking  up  the  envelope 
— for  this  it  proved  to  be — he  overtook  the  girl. 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  have  dropped  this." 

She  turned.  Her  eyes  reminded  him  of  violets  with 
the  morning  dew  on  them.  He  felt  a  deep,  strange,  but 
wholly  delightful  thrill  as  she  looked  at  him. 

She  took  the  envelope  and  glanced  at  it. 


THE  GIRL  IN  BLACK  n 

i 

"But  this  does  not  belong  to  me,"  she  said;  "it  is 
addressed  to  a  Mr.  Gilbert  Chertsey." 

"But — I  thought — in  fact,  I  was  practically  positive, 
that  you  had  dropped  it,"  stammered  Chertsey. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself  ..."  She  broke  off  to 
add:  "I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying  about  letters 
which  belong  to  someone  else.  I  suggest  that  you  in- 
quire at  the  office  for  this  Mr.  Chertsey." 

With  that,  and  a  very  brief  and  cold  smile,  she 
was  gone.  Chertsey,  feeling  very  much  of  a  fool,  was 
left  holding  a  letter  which — was  addressed  to  him- 
self! 

Entering  his  room,  he  switched  on  the  electric  fire, 
lit  a  pipe  and  sat  down  to  think.  He  was  still  bewildered, 
almost  breathless  with  astonishment.  The  girl  certainly 
had  dropped  that  letter.  Then  why  should  she  have 
temporised  ?  He  was  glad  she  had  not  deliberately  lied : 
to  have  proved  her  a  liar  would  have  been  like  a  smack 
in  the  face.  Yet 

He  looked  at  the  envelope, 

Gilbert  Chertsey,  Esq., 

was  written  on  it  in  small,  but  bold  handwriting,  which 
was  full  of  character.  Had  the  girl  written  it  herself? 
She  must  have,  he  decided ;  otherwise :  ( I )  why  should 
she  be  carrying  it,  and  (2)  why  should  she  drop  it  out- 
side the  very  door  of  his  room? 

There  were  a  good  many  other  questions.  How  did 
the  girl  know  his  name  ?  He  had  never  seen  her  before 
that  night.  Why  should  she  wish  to  write  to  him? 


12  THE  BLACK  HEART 

And,  once  having  written,  why  did  she  endeavour  to 
disown  the  act? 

The  first  thing  to  do,  he  now  decided,  was  to  read 
what  she  had  written  to  him.  In  a  fever  of  impatience 
he  tore  open  the  envelope. 

Inside  was  a  small  square  white  piece  of  paper.  On 
this  was  written  in  the  same  handwriting,  the  words — 

Do  not  go  to  London.  Great  danger. 
Destroy  this. 

That  was  all.  There  was  no  signature;  nothing  by 
which  the  writer  could  be  identified. 

Chertsey  put  the  paper  down  and  softly  whistled. 
This  was  Blind  Man's  Buff  with  a  vengeance.  Life, 
with  a  fine,  calculated  irony,  had  got  back  on  him: 
only  an  hour  or  so  before,  he  had  bitterly  complained 
that  all  the  tang  had  gone  out  of  existence;  now  he 
found  himself  the  central  figure  in  a  veritable  maze  of 
mystery. 

He  fell  to  putting  questions  to  himself  again.  It 
seemed  a  fool's  trick,  and  a  shocking  waste  of  time, 
but  nevertheless,  he  was  compelled  to  do  it. 

These  were  the  further  questions  he  asked: 

(i) — How  could  the  girl  possibly  have  known  his 
name? 

(2) — How  could  she  have  known  that  he  was  con- 
sidering going  to  London? 

(3) — What  connection  could  this  radiant  creature 
possibly  have  with  the  bearded  Lefarge  and  the  pale 
shadow  of  a  Thibau? 


THE  GIRL  IN  BLACK  13 


(4)— What- 


and  then  he  gave  it  up.  His  brain  was  weary  with 
so  much  surmise,  and  the  top  of  his  head  throbbed 
in  the  same  way  as  when  he  had  been  sticking  to  work 
too  hard.  The  enigma  must  wait  until  the  morning. 
Then  he  would  see  the  girl  and  demand  an  explana- 
tion. No,  not  demand,  hang  it ;  he  couldn't  imagine  her 
delivering  up  anything  on  demand.  He  would  ask  her 
ever  so  nicely  and  politely  what  she  meant  by  sending 
mysterious  warnings  to  complete  strangers? 

Just  before  he  fell  off  into  an  uneasy  sleep,  the 
memory  of  the  girl's  voice  came  back  to  him.  She  was 
not  French;  she  was  English — or  American.  He  was 
glad  of  that :  it  seemed  a  sort  of  bond  between  them. 

Breakfasting  early — and  lightly,  after  the  admirable 
French  fashion — Chertsey  signalled  to  the  head  waiter. 
He  described  the  mystery  girl,  and  asked  her  name. 

Jules  was  desolated,  but  he  could  not  recall  such  a 
one.  Was  Monsieur  sure  she  was  staying  at  the  hotel  ? 

"Almost  as  sure  as  that  you  are  lying,"  was  the 
swift  reply. 

The  head  waiter  looked  confused. 

"Perhaps  Monsieur  will  accompany  me  to  the 
bureau,"  he  said. 

At  the  hotel  office,  Chertsey,  stiffly  determined  now, 
repeated  his  description  of  the  girl.  The  clerk  in  charge 
shook  his  head. 

"There  is  no  one  of  that  description  staying  with  us, 
M'sieur,"  he  said. 


i4  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"But  I  tell  you  I  saw  her  in  the  lift  last  night.  I 
saw  her  on  the  fourth  floor " 

The  clerk's  face  expressed  astonishment,  but  he  kept 
to  his  story. 

"I  regret  exceedingly,  M'sieur — but  there  is  no  lady 
of  that  description  staying  here.  I  will  make  inquiries 
and  let  you  know."  The  manner  of  the  speaker,  re- 
spectful as  it  was,  suggested  that  Chertsey  must  be 
suffering  from  a  left-over  impression  of  a  wine-laden 
night. 

Having  apologised  to  the  head  waiter,  Chertsey 
roamed  the  public  rooms  of  the  hotel  until  10.30.  Then, 
fetching  his  hat  and  stick,  he  strolled  forth  into  the 
brilliant  sunshine.  But  for  the  letter  reposing  in  the 
inside  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  he  might  have  been 
inclined  to  think,  so  far  as  any  actual  evidence  of  her 
existence  was  obtainable,  that  the  girl  he  sought  was 
merely  a  creature  of  his  over-excited  fancy. 

But  that  note  of  dramatic  warning  was  real  enough. 

The  two  men  he  had  arranged  to  meet  were  already 
at  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix  when  he  arrived.  Lefarge  rose 
and  beamed  expressively. 

"It  is  delightful  to  see  M'sieur  again,"  he  said,  crook- 
ing a  finger  at  a  passing  waiter.  "Now,  I  confess,  I  am 
all  impatience  to  hear  your  decision.  Thibau  here,  he 
says  you  will  accept ;  but  I — I  have  my  doubts.  M'sieur 
will  be  kind  enough  to  remove  that  doubt?" 

"I  have  decided  to  accept  your  offer,  strange  as  it  is," 
he  replied. 

The  Heavily-Bearded  One  clapped  his  hands. 


THE  GIRL  IN  BLACK  15 

The  Head  of  the  important  firm  of  London  publish- 
ers— a  tall,  slim  man,  whose  manners  were  most 
charmingly  urbane — looked  across  the  table  at  his 
visitor. 

"There  should  be  every  inducement  for  you  to 
write — and  to  keep  on  writing,"  he  said ;  "as  you  know, 
your  last  four  books  have  all  been  tremendous  suc- 
cesses, not  only  with  us  but  also  with  Mortlakes  in 
America.  The  Colonial  editions  alone  would  satisfy  the 
average  novelist.  You  are  still  quite  a  young  man,  and 
you  have  the  world  at  your  feet.  As  a  teller  of  roman- 
tic adventure  tales,  you  have  no  equal :  a  big  statement 
to  make,  considering  how  the  bookstalls  are  groaning 
with  so-called  'thrillers.'  As  your  friend,  as  well  as 
your  publisher,  Chertsey,  let  me  ask:  why  are  you  so 
abominably  lazy  ?  Your  next  novel  should  be  already  in 
my  hands — and  you  confess  you  haven't  written  a  line 
of  it!  This  is  shocking  sloth!"  The  speaker,  whose 
greatest  joy  in  life  was  to  work  at  least  sixteen  hours 
out  of  every  twenty- four,  frowned  as  he  lit  a  cigar. 

The  visitor  laughed.  It  was  not  the  laugh  of  a  guilty 
person.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  the  laugh  of  a  man 
with  a  perfectly  clear  conscience. 

"The  fact  is,  Sir  William,"  he  replied,  "I've  been 
stuck  for  an  idea  for  months  now.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  practically  everything  in  the  sensational  business 
had  already  been  done  to  death — I  couldn't  get  a  line 
on  anything  that  even  looked  like  being  new." 

"How  many  plots  are  there?"  asked  the  publisher, 
sententiously ;  "did  not  someone  once  say  seven?" 


16  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  know  all  about  that,  but  until  I  feel  a  story,  I 
cannot  begin  to  write  it." 

"Which,  of  course,  is  why  the  sale  of  your  novels 
has  reached  such  highly  satisfactory  figures.  But,  all 
the  same,  I  do  implore  you  to  start  working  again.  If 
you  could  only  get  a  start " 

"I  think  I  have  that,"  was  the  comment.  "Look  here, 
Sir  William,"  the  speaker  went  on,  to  the  astonished 
publisher,  "if  anything  should  happen  to  me " 

The  cigar  dropped  from  Sir  William  Leverston's 
hand  on  to  the  handsome  mahogany  table.  "My  dear 
boy,  what  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  What  can  happen  to 
you?" 

"That's  just  what  I  am  not  very  clear  about  my- 
self. But,  in  case  anything  does,  I  should  like  you  to 
know  that  I  have  appointed  you  my  executor.  Good- 
bye !  Before  long  I  hope  to  get  down  to  work  again." 

Ignoring  further  appeals  for  enlightenment,  the  ex- 
tremely popular  young  writer  of  highly-coloured  fic- 
tion walked  down  the  stairs  into  the  teeming  Strand. 

The  house — or  rather,  the  flat — the  address  of 
which  had  been  given  him  by  the  two  mysterious 
men  of  Paris,  was  in  a  quiet  Bloomsbury  street.  As  he 
walked  slowly  down  this  peaceful-looking  thorough- 
fare, Chertsey  recalled  the  remark  once  made  to  him 
by  one  of  the  greatest  imaginative  writers  of  the  day — 
Peplow,  the  American  novelist: 

"This  Bloomsbury  of  yours,  Chertsey,  is  one  of  the 
most  fruitful  fiction-fields  in  the  world.  Not  only  is 


THE  GIRL  IN  BLACK  17 

there  a  novel  in  every  house  of  it,  but  in  every  room 
of  it!" 

No  doubt  it  was  true.  Forty-eight  hours  before,  he 
would  have  laughed  the  suggestion  to  scorn,  however. 
He  had  roamed  the  greater  part  of  Europe  in  search 
of  an  idea  for  his  next  novel,  and  had  failed.  He  had 
failed  so  badly  that  the  horrible  fear  which  haunts  every 
writer  had  come  to  him.  Was  he  written  out?  Was  he 
dried  up?  A  dreadful  thought  for  the  author  of  only 
four  novels,  good-sellers  as  all  of  these  had  proved. 

He  had  been  a  desperate  man  on  the  night  that  he 
went  to  "The  House  of  a  Thousand  Chances"  in  the 
Rue  Napoleon.  To  any  one  who  had  come  up  to  him 
and  suggested  an  acceptable  idea  for  a  novel,  he  would 
cheerfully  have  given  one  hundred  pounds. 

Instead,  those  strange  persons,  Lefarge,  the  Pon- 
derous, and  Thibau,  the  Pale  Shadow,  had  suggested 
that  he  should  live  a  drama  instead  of  writing  one. 
That  was  the  sole  reason  why  he  had  accepted  the 
bizarre  proposal  which  had  been  made  him.  It  was  not 
the  ten  thousand  francs :  he  had  a  sufficiency  of  money. 

Arrived  outside  the  house,  he  looked  up  at  the  win- 
dows. The  flat  he  was  to  occupy  was  on  the  second 
floor,  he  understood.  These  windows — three  in  num- 
ber— were  neatly  curtained.  There  was  an  air  of  almost 
ultra-respectability  about  them. 

On  the  way  up  the  stairs,  he  took  from  his  pocket 
the  key  which  Lefarge  had  given  him.  The  door  at  the 
flat  was  painted  a  deep  green — again  that  note  of  re- 
spectability ! 


i8  THE  BLACK  HEART 

He  had  been  told  that  there  would  be  no  one  in 
the  flat  by  the  time  he  arrived,  but  he  rang  neverthe- 
less. When  the  second  peel  was  negative  of  result,  he 
inserted  the  key,  opened  the  door,  and  stepped  inside. 

A  pleasant  smell  of  fresh  flowers  met  him,  and  the 
first  impression  he  had  was  that  this  place  had  recently 
been  lived  in ;  it  had  not  been  shut  up  and  neglected. 

He  found  himself  in  a  small  entrance-hall — a  space 
just  large  enough  to  contain  a  table,  a  chair,  and  a 
hat-stand. 

Leading  from  the  hall  were  two  doors,  one  on  either 
side. 

Having  taken  off  his  hat  and  light  overcoat,  which 
he  hung  on  the  hall-stand,  Chertsey  proceeded  with  his 
investigations.  Turning  the  handle  of  the  door  on  the 
right,  he  walked  into  a  small  apartment,  furnished 
in  quiet,  good  taste  as  a  dining-room.  Two  comfortable 
leather  chairs  flanked  the  hearth,  and  the  other  furni- 
ture appealed.  He  felt  that,  given  no  unruly  interrup- 
tions, he  might  be  very  comfortable  in  this  place.  It 
compared  quite  favourably  with  his  own  chambers  in 
Clarges  Street. 

Going  out  into  the  hall  again,  he  crossed  to  the  room 
on  the  other  side.  This,  as  he  supposed,  proved  to  be  a 
bedroom. 

This  room  also  was  agreeably  furnished.  The  wal- 
nut suite  was  of  good  quality  and  the  bed  looked  clean 
and  inviting. 

Leading  from  the  bedroom  was  a  small  bathroom, 
the  appointments  of  which  were  pleasing  to  the  eye. 


THE  GIRL  IN  BLACK  19 

From  the  window  of  the  bathroom  he  caught  sight 
of  a  fire-escape  in  the  form  of  a  long  iron  staircase 
leading  down  to  the  garden,  which  was  a  large  one  for 
Central  London. 

The  investigator  hummed  as  he  lit  a  cigarette.  So 
far  the  adventure  had  been  pleasant  enough.  A  hun- 
dred questions  pressed  on  his  mind,  but  he  decided  to 
dismiss  them — for  the  present,  at  any  rate. 

Returning  to  the  bedroom,  he  took  a  cursory  glance 
through  the  drawers  in  the  dressing-table.  They  were 
all  empty. 

"The  former  owner  has  evidently  cleared  out,"  Chert- 
sey  told  himself,  as  he  went  over  to  a  large  wardrobe 
which  stood  along  the  wall  to  the  left  of  the  inviting- 
looking  bed. 

He  opened  the  door  nonchalantly,  but  the  next 
moment  he  drew  back,  his  heart  thudding  against  his 
ribs. 

Huddled  in  a  corner  of  the  wardrobe  was  a  man. 

A  look  of  indescribable  horror  was  imprinted  on  his 
face. 

Unmistakably  he  was  dead. 

As  Chertsey  bent  to  look  more  closely,  the  corpse, 
disturbed  by  the  opening  of  the  door,  tumbled  forward 
and  fell  with  a  crash  at  his  feet. 


Chapter  III 
THE  MYSTERY  MESSAGE 

CHERTSEY  stood  motionless.  He  could  hear 
his  heart  beating.  The  small  room  was  filled 
with  a  silence  that  each  second  grew  more 
impressive.  From  the  two-hundred-yards  distant  Rus- 
sell Square  came  faintly  the  sounds  of  Life :  the  hoot- 
ing of  taxi-horns,  the  muffled  roar  of  the  city's  traffic : 
striking  contrasts  to  the  Thing  sprawling  at  his  feet 
which  was — Death ! 

He  was  still  unable  to  move.  Horror  had  gripped  him. 
The  quickened  flow  of  blood  thundered  in  his  temples. 
This  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  a  murderer's 
victim. 

Who  was  this  man?  What  was  he  doing  in  the  flat? 
Was  he  the  former  occupier?  Who  had  killed  him? — 
and  why?  The  questions  nearly  swept  him  off  his 
mental  balance. 

Then  a  healing  calmness  came.  His  sense  of  man- 
hood reasserted  itself.  A  man  had  been  foully  mur- 
dered, and  it  was  his  duty  to  see  that  justice  was 
done. 

But  what  was  he  to  do?  The  obvious  thing,  of 
course,  was  for  him  to  rush  out  into  the  street,  seize 


THE  MYSTERY  MESSAGE  21 

the  nearest  policeman  by  the  arm  and  drag  him  back 
to  that  room  of  horror.  But 

Chertsey  sat  down.  He  felt  stunned — and  inclined 
to  be  sick.  He  realised  suddenly  that  he  couldn't  in- 
form the  police.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  identified  with 
this  Thing  whose  face  stared  up  at  him  horrifically. 
Unable  to  look  at  it,  he  conquered  his  nausea  with  an 
effort,  and  placed  the  corpse  back  in  the  wardrobe. 

Then  he  tried  once  again  to  think. 

But  any  coherent  thought  proved  impossible.  Only 
one  fact  emerged  clearly  from  his  rioting  emotions: 
that,  if  he  were  discovered  there,  he  would  probably  be 
charged  with  the  crime.  In  any  case,  an  explanation 
would  be  demanded — and  what  explanation  could  he 
give?  Would  the  amazing  story  he  proffered  be  be- 
lieved ? 

Now  that  the  body  was  out  of  sight,  his  wits  slowly 
returned.  Since  he  could  not  inform  the  police,  he  must 
remain  in  the  flat  and  await  developments.  That  there 
would  be  developments  was  certain.  It  seemed  im- 
possible to  doubt  that  the  murderers  would  come  back. 
This  had  been  no  ordinary  crime;  nothing  in  the  flat 
had  been  disturbed,  for  instance.  Burglary  or  robbery 
could  not  have  been  the  motive. 

Then,  what ? 

Very  distinctly  came  a  knock  on  the  flat  door. 

Chertsey  braced  himself.  Now  that  some  action 
promised,  he  felt  more  able  to  cope  with  the  situation. 

Carefully  shutting  the  wardrobe  door  he  walked  into 
the  hall. 


22  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"Who  is  that?" 

The  answer  was  commonplace. 

"The  hall-porter,  sir." 

Still  he  hesitated. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"I  have  a  letter  for  you,  sir." 

With  that  Chertsey  opened  the  door.  A  man  in  a  dark 
uniform  stood  outside.  He  had  an  envelope  in  his  hand. 
This  he  extended. 

"Who  gave  you  this?" 

"A  young  lady,  sir.  Very  handsome,  sir — got  out  of 
a  taxi." 

Chertsey's  head  was  whirling,  but  he  kept  his  voice 
steady. 

"The  young  lady  didn't  give  you  any  name?" 

"No,  sir.  Just  handed  me  the  letter  which  she  said 
I  was  to  give  to  you  at  once,  and  then  got  into  the  taxi 
again,  and  drove  off." 

Chertsey  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  pulled  out 
half-a-crown. 

"Thank  you,  porter,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"One  more  question :  How  did  you  know  my  name?" 

"Mr.  Betterson,  of  the  firm  of  house-agents,  Messrs. 
Ross  and  Winson,  came  round  this  morning  to  tell  me 
that  a  gentleman  by  your  name,  sir,  had  taken  this 
particular  flat." 

"I  see."  The  remark  was  merely  mechanical.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  was  more  befogged  than  ever — the 


THE  MYSTERY  MESSAGE  23 

mystery  had  deepened  instead  of  clearing.   "That  is 
all,  porter." 

"Thank  you,  sir."  Touching  his  hat,  the  man  turned 
away. 

Freshly  bewildered,  Chertsey  closed  the  door  and 
went  into  the  sitting-room — he  preferred  the  sitting- 
room! — and  looked  at  the  letter. 

On  the  envelope,  in  a  script  that  was  full  of  char- 
acter, and  which  seemed  vaguely  familiar,  were  written 
the  words : 

Gilbert  Chertsey,  Esq., 

He  tore  it  open  and  read : 

"Never  mind  anything.  Tell  the  porter  you  are  tired 
with  your  journey,  that  you  are  going  to  bed — that  you 
must  on  no  account  be  disturbed. 

"Outside  your  bathroom  window  is  a  fire-escape. 
Leave  by  this,  and  take  a  'bus  to  Piccadilly  Circus.  I 
will  meet  you  at  six  o'clock  outside  the  Ophir  Steamship 
Company's  offices,  in  Lower  Regent  Street. 

"I  am  still  doing  my  best  to  enable  you  to  escape  from 
your  folly. 

"The  Girl  Who  Warned  You." 

Chertsey  leaned  back,  the  piece  of  notepaper  hanging 
from  his  fingers.  No  wonder  the  handwriting  had 
seemed  familiar. 

"The  Girl  Who  Warned  You/*  Presumably,  she  ex- 
pected him  to  remember  her.  Although  she  had  made 
such  an  impression  upon  him  in  those  few  fleeting 


24  THE  BLACK  HEART 

moments  two  nights  before,  he  wondered  whether  he 
would  definitely  be  able  to  recognise  her  again.  He 
had  seen  so  little  of  her  face,  although  her  figure  had 
been  noticeable  for  its  bewildering  grace. 

Then  she  had  dropped  that  note  of  warning  in  the 
corridor  of  the  Hotel  Vendome. 

But  why  had  she  dissembled? 

It  was  difficult  to  think  that  a  girl  of  such  charm 
and  distinction  could  be  an  adventuress.  Yet,  was 
this  second  note  just  a  trap?  Perplexed,  he  found  him- 
self disturbed  at  the  thought  that  the  girl  he  had  met 
in  Paris  was  in  any  way  connected  with  this  baffling 
and  sinister  mystery. 

Then  swiftly,  Chertsey  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He 
was  becoming  absurdly  sentimental  over  a  perfect 
stranger. 

But,  as  he  stood  up,  he  experienced  a  sense  of  excite- 
ment which  struck  him  as  being  odd.  He  thrilled  to  a 
memory — a  memory  of  a  rounded  cheek  and  the  un- 
forgettable beauty  of  a  pair  of  violet  eyes.  .  .  . 

The  next  minute  he  was  talking  to  the  hall-porter. 

"I  am  going  to  bed  and  do  not  wish  to  be  disturbed. 
I  crossed  from  the  Continent  to-day,  and  I  am  very 
tired." 

"Very  good,  sir.  If  anyone  should  call?" 

"Ask  them  to  fix  an  appointment.  In  any  case,  I  do 
not  want  to  be  bothered  until  to-morrow  morning.'' 

"Quite  so,  sir.  What  time  would  you  like  breakfast? 
And  I  do  a  little  valeting  for  the  other  gentlemen — • 
should  you  require  it." 


THE  MYSTERY  MESSAGE  25 

"I  will  remember  that — what  is  your  name,  by  the 
way?" 

"Parks,  sir." 

"Well,  Parks,  I'll  have  breakfast  served  at  nine 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning — until  then  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  disturbed." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

The  man  gone,  Chertsey  locked  the  flat  door  on  the 
inside,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  took  down  his  hat 
and  coat,  and  then,  mastering  that  profound  sense  of 
nausea,  walked  through  to  the  bedroom. 

Closing  the  bathroom  door  behind  him,  he  quietly 
opened  the  window  and  stepped  out  upon  the  iron  stair- 
case. 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  and  then,  as  the  autumn 
darkness  closed  about  him,  he  went  his  way  slowly 
down  and  down.  It  seemed  a  long  way  to  the  ground. 

He,  a  writer  of  romantic  frivol,  was  going  himself 
into  an  adventure — an  adventure  which  had  started 
with  meeting  the  corpse  of  a  murdered  man,  and  would 
end,  God  only  knew  where. 

But  a  girl's  eyes  were  leading  him  on. 


Chapter  IV 
BAGDAD— OFF  JERMYN  STREET 

CHERTSEY,   having  traversed   the   neglected 
garden  and  climbed  the  wall  at  the  other  end, 
found  himself  in  a  long,  straggling,  narrow 
lane. 

This  was  in  darkness,  but,  looking  to  the  right,  he 
saw  the  reflection  of  a  street  standard;  and,  using  the 
faint  illumination  as  a  guide,  he  shortly  emerged  into 
the  purlieus  of  Russell  Square. 

A  glance  at  his  watch  showed  that  he  had  only  ten 
minutes  in  which  to  keep  his  appointment. 

One  advantage  of  London  is  that  there  is  always  a 
superfluity  of  taxi-cabs.  The  latter  are  cumbersome,  un- 
profitable to  run,  and,  consequently,  the  charges  are 
abominably  high ;  but  the  man  in  a  hurry  has  a  certain 
consolation :  he  need  never  be  kept  waiting. 

This  was  Gilbert  Chertsey's  experience  now :  he  had 
been  standing  for  only  a  few  seconds  before  a  cab, 
with  a  driver  at  the  wheel  who  might  have  been  a  lineal 
descendant  of  Tony  Weller,  swooped  down  upon  him. 

"Taxi,  sir?"  inquired  a  hoarse  voice  out  of  a 
monstrously  red  and  mottled  face. 

26 


BAGDAD  — OFF  JERMYN  STREET     27 

"Ophir  Steamship  Company's  offices,  Lower  Regent 
Street — quickly,  please !" 

"Right  y'are,  sir!" 

The  next  moment  the  car  glided  smoothly  away,  the 
mottled  god  in  the  machine  showing  that  marvellous 
skill  in  avoiding  collisions  which  is  such  a  marked 
characteristic  of  the  London  taxi-driver. 

"'Ere  y'are,  sir!"  Tony  Weller's  blood  relation  an- 
nounced proudly,  five  minutes  later. 

After  tipping  the  driver  with  such  liberality  that  the 
man  actually  expressed  gratitude — a  sufficiently  un- 
usual occurrence  in  London — Chertsey  looked  around 
him. 

A  hundred  yards  to  his  right,  Piccadilly  Circus 
frothed  and  seethed — the  centre  of  the  world  was  hav- 
ing one  of  its  rush-hours — but  he  enjoyed  comparative 
quietude  where  he  stood.  Heavily  laden  'buses  rumbled 
and  thundered  past,  cars  sped  by  at  breathless  speed; 
but,  compared  to  the  traffic-din  a  short  distance  away, 
this  was  an  oasis  of  sound. 

To  his  left  stretched  Pall  Mall,  and,  beyond  again, 
the  stately  dignity  of  the  Mall  and  St.  James's  Park. 

It  was  a  familiar  enough  scene.  He  must  have  saun- 
tered down  this  same  street  hundreds  of  times.  Noth- 
ing exciting  or  even  eventful  had  ever  happened  to  him 
in  it.  One  of  his  favourite  booksellers,  Hugh  Rees, 
was  just  opposite,  and  behind  him,  as  he  stood  waiting, 
was  the  huge  emporium  for  American  magazines,  which 
he  was  in  the  habit  occasionally  of  visiting — but  these 


28  THE  BLACK  HEART 

formed  the  only  sources  of  interest  he  had  ever  found 
in  this  matter-of-fact  thoroughfare. 

It  struck  him  that  he  must  have  changed  into  an- 
other personality — this  man  waiting  could  not  be  his 
ordinary  self.  And  not  only  himself,  but  the  spirit  of 
this  accustomed  scene,  must  have  changed.  This  could 
not  be  the  London  he  knew — stimulating  enough,  but 
certainly  not  dangerous.  Dangerous?  The  idea  was 
ridiculous. 

And  yet,  against  this  prosaic  and  familiar  back- 
ground of  humdrum,  hurrying  city  life,  he  saw  with 
startling  vividness  the  distorted  face  of  the  dead  man 
he  had  left  behind  in  the  wardrobe  of  that  Blooms- 
bury  bedroom. 

He  half  turned  to  the  left.  A  short  walk  would  bring 
him  to  the  Headquarters  of  the  London  Police.  Scot- 
land Yard  might  look  at  him  suspiciously  after  he  had 
told  his  story,  but  surely  they  would  not  charge  him 
with  the  murder  of  that  unknown  man?  There  were 
persons  of  position  in  London — Sir  William  Leverston, 
for  instance — who  would  willingly  testify  that  he  was 
incapable  of  committing  such  a  crime. 

He  had  actually  taken  a  step  forward  when  a  taxi 
swerved  swiftly  towards  the  pavement,  and  a  passenger 
stepped  out. 

Instantly  the  resolve  which  had  possessed  him  a 
moment  before,  vanished.  For,  directly,  he  had  an 
amazing  revelation:  this  girl  of  the  Hotel  Vendome 
had  become  an  integral  part  of  his  future  life.  She 


BAGDAD  — OFF  JERMYN  STREET     29 

was  necessary  to  him;  future  existence  was  impossible 
without  her. 

So  real,  so  convincing  was  this  impression  that  he 
did  not  consider  how  absurd  such  an  hypothesis  really 
was :  he  only  knew  that  this  feeling  was  intuitive,  and 
that  it  sprang  from  some  inner  consciousness  of  which 
he  had  been  entirely  unaware  before.  It  was  a  vital 
truth. 

He  went  impulsively  forward  to  meet  her,  as  she 
turned  after  paying  the  taxi-driver. 

"Thank  God,  you've  come!"  he  heard  himself  say- 
ing. 

He  did  not  know  why  he  used  these  words — aston- 
ishing words  in  the  circumstances.  The  only  con- 
sciousness he  had  was  tremendous  pleasure  in  seeing 
this  mystery-girl  again.  Apart  from  that  one  circum- 
stance, his  thoughts  were  so  confused  at  the  revelation 
which  had  come  to  him  that  any  coherent  reasoning 
was  impossible. 

"Something  has  happened  to  you?  Something  seri- 
ous?" 

Her  voice  was  low,  grave,  but  it  had  a  musical  intona- 
tion which  made  it  very  fascinating.  Chertsey  could  not 
keep  his  eyes  off  her  face — a  perfect  oval  of  womanly 
beauty,  strengthened  and  redeemed  from  mere  mechani- 
cal charm  by  character  and  personality.  Utterly  femi- 
nine, yet  holding  a  quality  which  he  had  never  noticed 
in  the  face  of  any  other  woman  he  had  ever  seen. 

He  stammered  whilst  he  still  looked  at  her. 

"Not  to  me — to  someone  else." 


3o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

His  companion  gave  a  quick  glance  round. 

"We  cannot  stay  here — we  may  be  seen.  I  will  take 
you  somewhere " 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost,  for  she  had  swiftly 
turned. 

Together  they  crossed  the  wide  street,  the  girl  a 
little  in  front.  Already  she  had  assumed  control,  and 
taken  command. 

She  led  the  way  to  Jermyn  Street — a  thoroughfare 
which  now  appeared  to  Chertsey  for  the  first  time  to 
have  a  subtly-sinister  atmosphere,  with  its  mixture  of 
expensive  hotels  and  restaurants  and  mean  little  shops — 
and  then  turned  down  an  alley-way  which  led  to  that 
curious  region  beyond.  Suddenly  she  stopped. 

Over  a  basement-entrance  hung  a  sign — 

Lavonia:  Teas. 

Who,  or  what,  Lavonia  might  be,  Chertsey  had  no 
chance  of  inquiring,  for  his  companion,  with  the 
briefest  glance  at  him,  led  the  way  down  the  basement 
steps. 

Directly  he  passed  the  main  door  of  the  place,  Chert- 
sey was  greeted  by  a  blast  of  warm,  perfumed  air.  It 
titillated  his  senses  and  excited  his  curiosity. 

Then  he  saw  that  a  woman  was  standing  in  front  of 
his  companion,  and  that  she  was  smiling  a  set  smile. 

The  face  of  the  woman  was  hard  and  repellent,  in 
spite  of  its  pretence  to  some  sort  of  beauty.  She  was 
dressed  neatly  and  becomingly  in  a  blue  coat- frock.  The 


BAGDAD  — OFF  JERMYN  STREET     31 

skirt  of  this  was  startlingly  abbreviated;  it  reached 
barely  to  the  knee. 

Below  the  knee — Chertsey  noticed  with  a  stare  of 
bewilderment — were  a  pair  of  extremely  shapely  legs, 
exquisitely  hosed.  Yet  this  woman,  who  apparently 
managed  this  tea-room,  was  no  flapper;  she  was  forty 
if  she  was  a  day.  Two  younger  women — presumably 
waitresses — passed:  these  also  specialised  in  extremely 
shapely  limbs. 

"Will  Moddom  please  follow  me?"  inquired  the 
woman. 

She  led  the  way  forward.  Chertsey,  following  close 
at  the  heels  of  the  mystery-girl,  noticed  that  this  under- 
ground cafe  consisted  of  a  number  of  very  secluded 
alcoves,  all  dimly  illuminated.  He  followed  his  com- 
panion's example  in  seating  himself  in  one  of  these. 

"Coffee?"  the  manageress  repeated;  "certainly,  Mod- 
dom." 

The  shapely  legs,  so  generously  displayed,  glided 
away,  leaving  Chertsey  stupid  with  astonishment.  He 
knew  that  such  dens  as  "Lavonia:  Teas"  existed,  not 
only  in  the  West  End  but  in  the  city — but  that  this  girl 
should  be  apparently  familiar  with  a  cafe  of  this  char- 
acter— and  that  she  should  have  selected  such  a 
rendezvous  .  .  . 

"My  time  is  very  short,  and  I  have  a  good  deal  to 
say.  Please,  Mr.  Chertsey,  endeavour  to  look  a  little 
less  startled,  and  tell  me  everything  that  has  happened 
Since  I  saw  you  in  the  corridor  of  the  Hotel  Vendome 


32  THE  BLACK  HEART 

at  Paris.  But  first,  please,  why  did  you  not  take  my 
advice  ?" 

Her  mode  of  speech,  thrilling  as  was  her  voice,  stung 
him. 

"If  I  remember  rightly,  you  denied  dropping  that 
note." 

She  swept  the  statement  away  with  a  little  im- 
patient gesture. 

"How  can  I  hope  to  convince  you?"  she  replied, 
quickly;  "but — don't  waste  any  more  time — tell  me 
what  I  want  to  know!" 

"You  have  me  rather  at  a  disadvantage,"  he  started 
to  plead,  impressed  in  spite  of  the  warning  of  his 
native  common-sense. 

The  girl  leaned  across  the  small  table.  There  was  a 
light  in  the  violet  eyes.  A  truant  wisp  of  chestnut  hair, 
escaping  from  the  bondage  of  the  small  black  hat, 
brushed  the  rounded  cheek. 

"Do  you  realise  that  by  your  foolhardly  action  you 
have  placed  yourself  in  the  power  of  the  most  dan- 
gerous men  in  Europe  ?"  she  said,  in  a  voice  tense  with 
feeling. 

Chertsey  leaned  back.  On  the  surface  it  was  all  so 
fantastic,  so  preposterous.  This  was  the  atmosphere  of 
Bagdad,  not  of  London.  Yet  the  girl  regarding  him 
with  those  steady  eyes  was  vitally  real:  he  was 
conscious  of  some  of  her  magnetism  passing  through 
him. 

"Who  are  these  men? — and  what  should  they  want 
with  me?"  he  asked. 


BAGDAD  — OFF  JERMYN  STREET     33 

"Tell  me  first  what  has  happened  since  you  left 
Paris,"  she  parried. 

Only  a  second's  doubt  remained  with  him.  Then  the 
personality  of  the  girl  swept  any  mental  questioning 
aside. 

"I "  he  started. 

His  companion  lifted  a  warning  finger. 

A  waitress  brought  a  small  tray,  on  which  were 
cups,  a  pot  of  coffee  and  a  jug  of  hot  milk.  She  flashed 
Chertsey  a  mischievous  glance  as  she  placed  the  things 
on  the  table. 

"Drink  some — it  will  allay  any  suspicion." 

Chertsey  had  ceased  to  wonder  by  this  time.  He 
helped  his  companion,  then  poured  out  a  cup  for  him- 
self. He  sipped  the  hot  drink  while  impatience  gnawed 
him. 

"Now,"  said  his  companion. 

"I  am  a  novelist,"  Chertsey  replied;  "a  writer  of 
romantic,  highly-coloured  nonsense.  It  is  popular,  how- 
ever, and  it  enables  me  to  live  the  kind  of  life  I  like. 

"Recently  I  should  have  started  a  new  novel.  But  a 
central  idea  eluded  me;  everything  in  the  sensational 
line  had  been  exhausted.  I  could  not  get  my  plot. 

"It  was  annoying  because  I  am  under  contract  to 
my  publishers — most  delightful  people — and  I  like  to 
keep  my  obligations.  Day  after  day  passed,  and  still  I 
could  not  find  anything  in  my  imagination  worth  wast- 
ing paper  on.  Does  this  bore  you?"  he  stopped  to  ask. 

He  received  a  totally  different  reply  from  what  he 
expected. 


34  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  am  very  interested,"  the  mystery-girl  said;  "please 
don't  break  off  again."  Momentarily,  the  tension  had 
gone  out  of  her  voice  and  face. 

"Paris  is  popularly  supposed  to  be  a  city  of  queer 
happenings.  I  went  there  to  soak  in  some  atmosphere, 
and  to  endeavour  to  pick  up  a  thread  of  that  very 
elusive  plot  I  wanted.  Paris,  however,  seemed  a  desert — 
the  papers  were  dull,  the  people  I  met  were  duller,  and 
the  private  detective  to  whom  I  was  introduced  by  a 
French  journalist,  the  dullest  man  I  ever  met — and  I 
despaired. 

"Then,  the  hall-porter  in  my  hotel  came  to  my  res- 
cue, giving  me  the  address,  and  what  was  more  im- 
portant, a  card  of  introduction  to  a  gaming-house  in 
the  Rue  Napoleon,  not  far  from  the  Grands  Boulevards. 

"The  place  had  such  a  picturesque  name — it  was 
known  as  'The  House  of  a  Thousand  Chances' — that 
I  began  to  have  some  hope;  but,  beyond  losing  nearly 
twenty  thousand  francs,  nothing  happened  to  stir  my 
torpid  mind.  I  was  bored  stiff. 

"But,  leaving  the  place,  I  must  have  been 
shadowed " 

Into  the  face  of  his  companion  came  that  tense  ex- 
pression again. 

"I  know  what  followed,"  she  said.  "At  the  Cafe  de 
la  Paix  two  men  got  into  conversation  and  made  you 
a  certain  offer." 

"Yes.  It  was  the  most  amazing  proposal  I  have  ever 
heard.  If  I  agreed  to  go  immediately  to  London  and 
take  up  my  residence  in  a  certain  Bloomsbury  flat,  I 


BAGDAD  — OFF  JERMYN  STREET     35 

was  to  receive  the  honorarium  of  ten  thousand  francs, 
the  promise  of  much  subsequent  wealth,  and  possible 
adventures."  Chertsey  broke  off  to  smile  grimly. 

"And  you  have  had  an  adventure?"  inquired  the  girl. 

"My  God,  yes !  Almost  the  first  thing  I  saw  when  I 
reached  this  flat  at  712,  Guildford  Street,  was  the  body 
of  a  dead  man  concealed  in  a  wardrobe.  By  all  appear- 
ances he  had  been  poisoned." 

"Describe  this  man,  please,"  breathlessly  commanded 
the  girl. 

"His  age,  I  should  say,  was  roughly  about  forty- 
five.  He  was  dressed  in  a  well-cut  blue  suit,  but  be- 
yond one  facial  characteristic,  there  was  nothing  by 
which  to  distinguish  him  from  ten  thousand  other 
middle-aged  men." 

"What  was  this  facial  characteristic?" 

Chertsey  gave  her  back  look  for  look.  She  met  his 
scrutiny  steadfastly. 

"It  is  vitally  important  that  I  should  know,"  she 
said. 

He  hesitated  no  longer.  However  mysterious  was  the 
atmosphere  by  which  this  girl  was  surrounded,  he  had 
to  believe  in  her. 

"The  man,"  Chertsey  explained,  "had  a  curious 
deep  cleft  or  dimple  in  his  chin.  It  reminded  me  of  the 
core  of  an  apple — something  which  I  wanted  to  cut 
out.  Horrible  notion,  considering  the  man  was  dead,  no 
doubt " 

"One  cannot  control  one's  thoughts.  You  say  you 


36  THE  BLACK  HEART 

found  this  man  dead  in  a  wardrobe  in  the  bedroom  of 
the  flat.  Was  anything  disturbed?" 

"No — that  was  the  curious  part  about  it.  Everything 
in  the  place  was  in  perfect  order,  even  to  freshly- 
arranged  flowers !  But,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  all  the  be- 
longings of  the  former  owner — if  this  dead  man  was 
he — had  been  moved  out  before  I  arrived.  Tell  me, 

Miss "  He  paused,  but  she  did  not  supply  the  name; 

"what  does  it  all  mean?" 

The  girl  poised  her  chin  on  the  palm  of  a  beautifully 
shaped  left  hand. 

"I  have  an  idea,"  she  replied,  abstractedly,  "but  it  is 

too  early  for  me  to  say  yet — too  early "  The  voice 

trailed  away  as  the  speaker's  thoughts  obviously  occu- 
pied her  full  attention. 

"You  can  surely  tell  me  something  more  than  that," 
persisted  Chertsey.  "You  see,"  he  went  on,  "this  thing 
on  which  I  started  more  or  less  as  a  joke  has  turned 
out  unexpectedly  tragic.  I  thought  this  adventure, 
absurd  and  bizarre  as  it  sounded,  might  give  me  an 
idea  for  my  novel." 

The  girl  interjected  the  remark:  "And  now,  in- 
stead of  writing  mystery,  you  are  living  it?" 

"I  am— by  Jove!" 

Then  there  was  silence,  as  both  became  occupied 
with  their  own  thoughts. 

Chertsey,  still  in  a  maze,  felt  some  doubts  returning. 
The  girl  had  purposely  refrained  from  mentioning  her 
name  or  giving  him  practically  any  confidence  in  re- 
turn. Had  he  been  too  precipitate? 


BAGDAD  — OFF  JERMYN  STREET     37 

"Listen,  Mr.  Chertsey."  His  companion  had  broken 
in  upon  his  reflections.  "When  you  were  in  Paris,  I 
gave  you  that  warning  because  I  felt  that  you  were 
running  blindly  and  foolishly  into  a  position  of  great 
danger.  Although  you  were  a  complete  stranger,  I  felt 
it  my  duty  to  try  to  save  you.  But  now 

"Yes?''  said  Chertsey,  eagerly. 

Every  word  this  girl  uttered  increased  his  impatience 
and  stimulated  his  already  overwhelming  sense  of 
curiosity. 

"The  present  situation  is  this,"  resumed  the  mystery- 
girl,  with  a  note  of  finality.  "England — perhaps  the 
whole  of  Europe — is  threatened  with  a  great  peril. 
Chance  has  placed  you  in  the  position  of  possibly  being 
able  to  avert  a  tremendous  catastrophe.  The  question  is : 
are  you  willing  to  take  the  enormous  risk  which  such 
a  task  would  necessarily  involve?" 

Chertsey  leaned  towards  her. 

"I  must  know  something  about  you  before  I  answer 
that,"  he  rejoined;  "forgive  me,  but  what  connection 
have  you  with  this  business — which  sounds  like  an 
opium-smoker's  delirium?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  that.  It  is  natural  that  you  should 
ask,  I  know — but  all  I  can  say  at  the  moment  is  that  I 
am  possibly  the  only  person  in  London  to-night,  out- 
side the  men  who  are  endeavouring  to  bring  political 
ruin  to  the  nation,  who  realises  to  what  extent  Eng- 
land is  in  danger.  Will  that  satisfy  you?" 

"It  must,  if  you  won't  tell  me  any  more." 


38  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  can  tell  you  this."  The  speaker's  eyes  glowed, 
and  her  voice  became  quietly  resonant.  "One  of  the 
greatest  conspiracies  against  the  peace  of  the  world  is 
now  being  hatched — part  of  it  here  in  the  West  End 
of  London,  part  in  Paris,  part  in  Berlin,  with  ramifica- 
tions, no  doubt,  in  many  other  capitals  of  Europe. 

"You  doubtless  wonder  at  me,  a  mere  girl,  knowing 
this.  Let  my  answer  be  that,  for  a  reason  which  I  do 
not  intend  to  explain  now,  I  am  interested  in  a  great 
many  things  which  are  closely  guarded  secrets.  Other- 
wise, how  should  I  have  known  of  the  offer  which 
those  two  men  in  Paris  who  called  themselves  Lefarge 
and  Thibau  made  to  you?  How  should  I  have  known, 
also,  of  the  moment  of  your  arrival  at  712,  Guild  ford 
Street?" 

The  listening  man  nodded. 

"You  mystify  me,"  he  confessed,  "but  I  will  not 
interrupt  by  asking  you  any  unnecessary  questions.  Tell 
me  something  more  about  this  conspiracy?" 

His  companion  withdrew  a  small  gold  case  from 
the  costly  handbag  she  carried,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"I  have  only  shreds  of  evidence  upon  which  to  go," 
she  replied,  "but  I  feel  sure  I  am  right.  For  months 
past  I  have  been  travelling,  to  try  to  confirm  my 
suspicions.  In  a  flat  in  the  Ragensburger  Strasse  of 
Berlin,  I  heard  something  which  set  me  thinking;  this 
received  corroboration  in  an  underground  dance  hall 
of  Vienna.  From  there  I  went  to  Munich,  and  from 
Munich  to  Trieste.  The  trail  here  narrowed  and  I 
rushed  back  to  Paris.  It  was  there  I  saw  you." 


BAGDAD  — OFF  JERMYN  STREET     39 

Chertsey  pulled  at  the  cigarette  which  he  had  ac- 
cepted from  the  small  gold  case. 

"And  this  plot,  you  say,  is  directed  against  Eng- 
land?" he  asked. 

He  received  an  astonishing  reply. 

"Don't  let  this  man  coming  towards  us  see  you!" 
the  girl  whispered,  tensely;  "drop  something  and  be  a 
long  time  picking  it  up !" 

The  novelist's  fountain  pen  fell  to  the  floor. 


Chapter  V 
CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO 

SO  MAGNETIC  had  this  girl's  influence  become 
that  Chertsey  had  obeyed  the  strange  request  un- 
hesitatingly. His  fingers  as  he  stooped  touched 
the  fountain  pen,  but  he  pushed  it  farther  under  the 
seat,  so  that  a  moment  or  so  later  he  was  on  all  fours 
endeavouring  to  retrieve  the  emblem  of  his  trade. 

"That  will  do,"  he  heard  a  voice  say;  "you  can 
look  up  now." 

He  emerged  from  his  semi-retirement,  looking  hot 
and  feeling  something  of  a  fool. 

"You  rather  overdid  it,"  was  his  reward,  "but  the 
essential  thing  was  the  man  in  question  did  not  notice 
your  face.  If  he  had  seen  you  talking  to  me,  it 
might  have  been  very  awkward  for  you  subsequently." 

Chertsey  contrived  a  smile. 

"You  make  me  feel  like  a  very  small  boy,"  he  pro- 
tested; "can't  you  stop  doing  that?" 

"I  was  serious  when  I  said  that.  The  person  who 
just  passed  is,  without  any  exaggeration,  the  worst  man 
in  London — a  creature  of  infinite  evil.  Incidentally,  he 
owns  this  place.  He  doesn't  know  me — at  least,"  with 

40 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO         41 

a  determined  flick  of  cigarette  ash,  "I  hope  he  doesn't — 
but  I  know  him."  The  lines  of  her  mouth  hardened. 

"Has  this  man  anything  to  do  with  my  possible 
future  employers  ?" 

His  companion  sent  him  a  swift  glance. 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  are  going  to  carry  on?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes, — of  course.  You  see,  I  happen  to  believe  what 
you  have  just  told  me,  incredible  though  it  sounds ;  and 
if  I  can  do  anything,  naturally  I'm  going  to  have  a 
shot.  It  would  help  me,  however,  if  you  were  able  to 
give  me  just  a  hint  of  what  you  think  these  gentry's 
game  is  with  me." 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot  do  that.  You  must  discover  it 
for  yourself." 

He  frowned. 

"There  is  the  question  of  that  corpse  to  be  con- 
sidered ;  I  had  thought  of  going  to  the  police." 

She  answered  sharply,  almost  impatiently. 

"This  is  beyond  the  police.  It  is  entirely  out  of  the 
region  of  the  ordinary  detective.  These  men  would 
laugh  at  the  police."  Her  tone  was  decisive. 

"There  is  not  sufficient  evidence  to  take  to  the 
police,  even  if  that  course  was  advisable — which  I 
do  not  think."  She  continued:  "Remember,  I  myself 
have  only  the  slenderest  of  clues,  and  it  is  solid  facts 
that  are  wanted. 

"But  you  have  a  wonderful  opportunity;  you  will  be 
in  the  heart  of  the  conspiracy.  You  can  watch  and 


42  THE  BLACK  HEART 

learn.  Above  all,  if  you  hear  any  mention  of  The 
Black  Heart— 

"The— what?"  asked  Chertsey. 

"The  Black  Heart,"  repeated  the  girl  in  a  whisper, 
and  then  sat  bolt  upright. 

From  somewhere  near  came  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
scream;  then  some  shuffling,  and  after  that  a  murmur 
of  deep  voices. 

Her  short  skirt  tossing  wildly  to  and  fro,  the  woman 
who  had  greeted  them  upon  entering  now  rushed  into 
the  alcove.  In  spite  of  its  make-up,  her  face  was  sickly 
and  pallid. 

"Get  out!"  she  cried.  "Quickly! — or  they'll  nab 
you!" 

In  that  moment  of  fresh  perplexity,  Gilbert  Chert- 
sey looked  at  his  companion. 

That  astonishing  girl  did  not  fail  him. 

"The  police  must  have  made  a  raid,"  she  said,  with 
remarkable  calmness ;  "we  shall  have  to  get  away." 

She  stood  up,  and  caught  his  arm. 

"If  we  follow  that  woman,  we  ought  to  be  all  right." 

Even  now  there  was  scarcely  a  ripple  of  excitement 
in  her  voice,  and  Chertsey  marvelled  afresh. 

There  were  scurrying  sounds  from  the  adjoining 
alcoves. 

Suddenly,  like  the  falling  of  a  tropical  night,  a  tense 
blackness  enveloped  them — a  hireling  of  the  place  must 
have  turned  off  the  main  electric  light  switch. 

In  front  of  them  they  could  hear  the  pattering 
heeltaps  of  the  fleeing  woman;  behind  them  came  the 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO         43 

deep  curses  of  the  police  officers  as  they  stumbled 
awkwardly  in  the  darkness.  Used  to  sensations  as  he 
was  by  now,  Chertsey  felt  that  this  was  another  mo- 
ment robbed  from  a  nightmare. 

"Quickly!"   .   .   . 

A  hand,  cool,  reassuring,  firm  in  its  clasp,  was 
slipped  into  his.  Thus  united  the  mystery-girl  and  him- 
self blundered  forward. 

After  a  few  minutes  that  seemed  hours,  Chertsey 
blinked.  The  light  was  on  again. 

"There's  two ! — get  at  'em !" 

In  a  second,  Chertsey's  mind  had  been  able  to  sum  up 
the  situation.  He  stood  in  front  of  the  girl,  at  the  back 
of  whom  was  a  door.  This  was  resisting  all  her  efforts 
to  open  it. 

Two  heavily-built  men,  unmistakably  police  officers 
in  plain  clothes,  sprang  forward  at  the  bidding  of  the 
sergeant-major-like  individual  who  had  barked  the  com- 
mand. 

Behind  him,  Chertsey  could  still  hear  the  girl  en- 
deavouring to  open  the  door.  He  might  have  been 
mistaken,  but  he  imagined  that  his  companon  had 
uttered  a  short  cry  of  despair. 

The  sound,  imaginary  or  real,  played  havoc  with  his 
usual  equable  temperament.  He  felt  like  a  man  driven 
mad  through  desperation. 

The  first  police-officer  was  now  so  near  that  he  could 
see  the  coarse  texture  of  his  skin.  Beneath  the  bowler 
hat  trickled  beads  of  perspiration.  The  man's  lips  were 


44  THE  BLACK  HEART 

parted  in  a  snarl,  showing  broken  and  discoloured 
teeth. 

Chertsey  felt  not  only  mad,  but  disgusted.  Acting 
on  an  impulse  he  could  not  control,  he  hurled  his 
clenched  first  into  that  unpleasant  face,  heard  an  oath 
being  snapped  off  short,  and  then,  to  his  surprise,  the 
man  staggered  back  and  crashed  to  the  floor. 

The  next  moment  he  felt  himself  seized  violently 
from  behind,  and  jerked  backwards.  There  was  a 
rush  of  cold  air,  and  a  clanging  sound  as  though  a 
heavy  door  had  been  hurriedly  slammed. 

Then  came  a  nauseating  pain  in  the  head.  After 
that — oblivion. 

The  next  thing  he  remembered  was  opening  his 
eyes  to  see  a  man  staring  fixedly  at  him. 

Of  all  the  astonishing  events  of  the  last  few  hours, 
nothing  seemed  quite  so  remarkable  as  looking  into  the 
face  of  this  man. 

The  latter  was  perhaps  sixty  years  of  age,  but  his 
skin  had  the  clear,  fresh  look  of  one  in  the  very  prime 
of  life.  Immaculately  tended  hair  of  a  startling  white- 
ness, abundant  in  growth,  surmounted  a  high  classical 
forehead. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  saint,  all  but  the  eyes — but,  as 
he  looked  into  these,  Chertsey  felt  that  the  man  before 
him  must  be  a  fiend.  .  .  .  Those  deep-set  eyes  were 
sinks  of  iniquity.  .  .  . 

The  worst  man  in  London! 

The  description  which  had  sounded  so  incongruous 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO        45 

when  it  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  mystery-girl,  now 
seemed  aptness  itself.  In  spite  of  the  striking  beauty 
of  the  rest  of  this  man's  face,  those  eyes  could  not 
lie.  .  .  . 

"In  endeavouring  to  save  you  from  what  might  have 
been  an  embarrassing  situation,  I,  unfortunately,  caused 
you  to  knock  your  head.  You  will  forgive  the  clumsi- 
ness, I  trust?" 

It  was  a  remarkable  voice,  clear  and  sweet  in  utter- 
ance. It  reminded  Chertsey  in  some  curious  way  of  a 
silver  bell. 

"But  you  have  fully  recovered  now !"  continued  the 
speaker ;  "the  inquisitive  persons  who  so  crudely  forced 
an  entrance  have  gone,  and  you  will  be  able  to  depart 
without  apprehension." 

In  spite  of  the  blow  he  Had  received,  the  situation 
made  Chertsey  clear  headed. 

"To  whom  have  I  the  pleasure  of  speaking?"  he 
asked. 

"My  name  is  Sylvester  Lade,"  responded  the  other. 

"You  own  this  place? 

Sylvester  Lade  nodded. 

"It  is  one  of  my  commercial  undertakings,"  he  re- 
marked with  a  brief  smile. 

Chertsey  rose,  preparing  to  go. 

"Well,  I  have  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Lade.  I  must  admit 
I  didn't  altogether  fancy  being  hauled  into  a  police- 
court."  He  did  not  add  that  he  was  innocent  of  any 
crime  himself.  He  was  curious  to  hear  what  the  other 
would  reply. 


46  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"What  was  the  object  of  the  raid?"  he  asked,  when 
Lade  kept  silent. 

The  man  with  the  evil  eyes  shrugged  his  immacu- 
lately-clad shoulders. 

"They  made  me  some  paltry  excuse  to  the  effect  that 
they  were  looking  for  a  notorious  criminal.  Just  now, 
London,  it  seems,  is  the  chosen  meeting-place  for  a 
number  of  dangerous  characters."  Again  a  fugitive 
smile  passed  over  the  aesthetic  face. 

Sylvester  Lade  then  stepped  forward. 

"One  moment  before  you  go,  Mr. '* 

"Gilbert  Chertsey  is  my  name." 

"The  novelist?" 

Chertsey  bowed. 

The  worst  man  in  London  extended  his  hand. 

"I  am  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Chertsey.  I  have  long  been  an  admirer  of  your  bril- 
liant work."  He  paused,  and  over  those  dreadful  eyes 
the  lids  closed  like  hoods.  "And  you  are  staying  in 
London  now?"  he  went  on. 

"Yes— at  712,  Guildford  Street." 

Chertsey  decided  to  risk  a  great  deal  by  one  bold 
stroke.  But  the  only  reward  he  received  was  an  enig- 
matic smile. 

"Indeed!  I  am  very  fond  of  Bloomsbury  myself; 
I  regard  it,  in  spite  of  its  faded  splendour,  as  one  of 
the  most  interesting  districts  of  London." 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Lade,"  said  Chertsey,  spurred  by 
sudden  recollection,  "I%  want  to  ask  you  about  the  lady 
I  was  with.  Did  she  get  away?" 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO        47 

The  lids  opened. 

"To  my  regret,  she  did,"  was  the  reply. 

"To  your  regret?  She  was  a  friend  of  mine — we 
came  here  together." 

"Quite  so.  But  you  were  not  aware  that  she  was 
a  police-spy,  I  hope,  Mr.  Chertsey?" 

"I  certainly  wasn't !"  The  novelist  felt  hot  about  his 
ruined  collar.  His  hands  were  opening  and  shutting. 
He  had  an  overwhelming  and  almost  insane  desire  to 
seize  this  human  reptile  by  the  throat  and  squeeze  the 
noxious  life  out  of  him. 

"London  is  a  strange  place,  and  we  learn  many 
things  in  time,  Mr.  Chertsey."  There  was  not  only 
a  subtle  if  suave  sarcasm  in  the  words,  but  they  seemed 
to  carry  warning. 

Chertsey  went  hotter. 

"I  absolutely  refuse  to  believe  that  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion has  anything  to  do  with  the  police,  Mr.  Lade." 
His  instinctive  hatred  of  the  man  made  him  speak  with 
some  heat. 

The  other  asked  in  his  flute-like  voice:  "A  criminal 
then,  perhaps?" 

"No! — nor  a  criminal!  Excuse  me,  but  I  must  be 
going."  The  air  had  become  stifling;  delicate  per- 
fumes such  as  only  women  should  use  were  wafted 
to  him  with  every  movement  made  by  Sylvester  Lade. 

"I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  again, 
Mr.  Chertsey,"  said  the  latter.  He  fondled  a  ring  on  the 
little  finger  of  his  left  hand  as  he  spoke. 

"Are  you  interested  in  stones?"  he  asked,  holding 


48  THE  BLACK  HEART 

up  this  hand ;  "personally,  onyx  has  always  had  a  special 
appeal  to  me." 

Chertsey,  had  he  used  less  self-control,  would  have 
been  bound  to  make  some  exclamation  of  surprise ;  the 
stone  in  the  ring  shown  to  him  was  black  in  colour — 
and  was  shaped  like  a  heart. 

He  mastered  himself. 

"A  black  heart,"  he  commented;  "does  it  represent 
anything?" 

Sylvester  Lade  came  nearer. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said;  "perhaps,  soon,  you  may  be 
given  an  opportunity  of  learning  what  it  represents. 
But," — the  gentle  voice  became  steely — "in  any  event, 
believe  me,  it  would  be  very  inadvisable  for  you  to  have 
any  further  association  with  the  young  lady  we  have 
been  discussing." 

"Good  advice  is  always  valuable,  Mr.  Lade."  The 
irony  in  Chertsey 's  voice  caused  the  other  to  stare.  But 
he  made  no  comment,  opening  a  door  which  led  from 
this  room,  that  apparently  served  the  purpose  of  an 
office. 

Outside  was  a  short  passage,  and  at  the  end  of  this 
a  flight  of  stone  steps  led  upwards.  , 

A  couple  of  minutes  later,  Chertsey  found  himself 
in  the  street. 

He  took  off  his  hat  to  wipe  his  forehead.  It  was 
still  only  seven  o'clock,  and  he  had  the  rest  of  the  eve- 
ning before  him. 

The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  get  a  bath.  After  that, 
a  change  of  clothes,  and  then  something  to  eat;  the 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO         49 

strain  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  during  the  past 
hours  had  made  him  ravenously  hungry. 

It  was  because  these  feelings  of  the  primitive  man; 
predominated,  that  he  turned  instinctively  towards 
Piccadilly.  In  that  moment,  he  longed  for  the  seclusion 
and  comfort  of  his  own  rooms  in  Clarges  Street. 

Arrived  outside  his  chambers,  he  let  himself  quietly 
in,  and  ran  lightly  upstairs  to  the  first  floor.  As  he 
looked  round  the  well-remembered  scene,  after  enter- 
ing, the  thought  of  his  recent  experiences  took  on  the 
character  of  a  disordered  dream. 

Although  he  had  sent  no  message  home,  everything 
was  in  its  usual  admirable  order,  and  it  was  with  a 
sigh  of  contentment  that  he  turned  on  the  hot-water  tap 
to  fill  the  bath. 

It  was  while  he  was  luxuriating  in  the  steaming 
"tub"  that  a  knock  came  on  the  door. 

"Is  that  ever  you,  Mr.  Chertsey,  sir?"  The  voice 
belonged  to  the  estimable  Mrs.  Chandler,  who  com- 
bined the  duties  of  housekeeper,  landlady,  and  foster- 
parent,  with  such  marked  credit  to  herself  and  enviable 
comfort  to  the  novelist. 

The  sound  plunged  Chertsey  so  far  back  into  his 
normal  life  that  he  chuckled. 

"It's  all  right,  Mrs.  Chandler.  I  came  back  unex- 
pectedly, and  didn't  want  to  disturb  you.  I'll  tell  you  a 
secret:  I'm  fiendishly  hungry,  but  I  hurried  home 
because  I  prefer  your  cooking  to  that  of  any  chef  in 
London.  You've  got  something  in  the  house,  I  hope?" 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  little  snort. 


50  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"As  though  I  should  ever  allow  meself  to  be  out 
of  food,  Mr.  Chertsey  sir!  If  you  can  give  me  twenty 
minutes,  I'll  promise  to  have  a  real  tasty  morsel  ready 
for  you." 

The  man  in  the  bath  shouted : 

"Splendid!  But  not  too  much  of  the  morsel,  Mrs. 
Chandler!" 

"Very  good,  sir."  Mrs.  Chandler  smiled  as  she  went 
her  way ;  Gilbert  Chertsey  had  always  been  a  favourite 
of  hers,  in  spite  of  "all  them  papers  that  was  always 
littered  about." 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Chertsey  sat  at  his  ease.  A 
wood  fire  blazed  cheerily  on  the  open  hearth ;  the  small, 
round  dining-table  glittered  and  glistened  with  fine 
linen  and  well-polished  cut-glass ;  a  pint  of  good  claret 
was  on  tap,  and  from  beneath  the  shining  cover  there 
came  a  most  appetising  odour. 

Lifting  the  cover,  he  found  that  the  worthy  Mrs. 
Chandler  had  surpassed  herself;  a  mixed  grill  of  the 
most  tempting  variety  was  before  him.  A  real  nobleman 
of  a  chop  was  flanked  on  either  side  by  a  succulent, 
sizzling  kidney,  whilst  round  and  about,  as  it  were, 
nestled  what  Chertsey  himself  had  many  times  called 
the  trimmings — a  small  piece  of  steak,  done  to  a  turn, 
a  fierce  fellow  of  a  sausage  with  a  burst  waistcoat,  a 
curly  rasher  of  bacon  and,  giving  the  whole  picture  a 
touch  of  colour,  two  bright-hued  tomatoes,  also  succu- 
lent and  ditto  sizzling. 

Chertsey  did  justice  to  this  kingly  dish,  and  when 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO         51 

Mrs.  Chandler  unexpectedly  appeared  with  a  jam 
omelette,  he  made  no  more  to  do  than  to  catch  her 
round  the  waist. 

"Mrs.  Chandler,  you're  one  of  the  greatest  women 
that  ever  lived !"  he  declared. 

His  landlady  beamed. 

"I  wanted  to  make  quite  sure  that  you  had  plenty, 
sir;  Chandler  will  be  bringing  up  the  coffee  in  five 
minutes." 

The  omelette  was  a  worthy  successor  to  the  mixed 
grill;  the  coffee  was  Mrs.  Chandler's  best,  and  Mrs. 
Chandler  could  make  coffee — and  the  cigar  he  had 
just  lit  rounded  off  everything  that  had  gone  before. 
Chertsey  had  achieved,  for  a  brief  while,  a  state  of 
beatification. 

One  of  the  mockeries  of  life  is  that  one's  mood 
changes  so  quickly.  Especially  is  this  true  with  a  man 
gifted  with  any  imagination.  Now  that  his  body  was 
fed,  Chertsey  found  himself  thinking  of  that  welter  of 
melodrama  from  which  he  had  so  recently  emerged. 

Was  he  going  on  with  it?  Was  he  going  to  be  fool 
enough  to  exchange  a  life  of  comfortable  ease  for  one 
of  shattering  shocks  and  very  real  danger? 

A  small  voice  said :  "Don't  be  an  ass !"  But  he  shifted 
in  his  chair  as  the  words  passed  through  his  mind. 

Then  he  sprang  up,  so  quickly  that  the  ash  from  his 
cigar  spilled  on  the  red  Turkey  carpet. 

Good  God!  He  had  his  plot!  .  .  .  Real  life  had 
given  him  what  his  imagination  had  sought  in  vain  for 
so  long! 


52  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Eagerly  he  went  to  a  drawer  of  the  big  desk  standing 
in  the  recess  of  the  window  that  overlooked  the  street, 
and  pulled  out  a  handful  of  large-sized  writing  paper. 

The  more  he  thought  about  it,  the  better  it  became. 
There  were  at  least  ten  thousand  words  of  ripping 
narrative  in  what  had  happened  to  him  since  leaving 
"The  House  of  a  Thousand  Chances"  in  the  Rue 
Napoleon,  and  if  he  couldn't  build  on  to  that  start,  he 
was  a  bad  craftsman. 

Why,  the  people  he  had  met  already  in  that  bizarre 
adventure  were  better  characters  than  his  imagination 
could  have  conjured  up — and  the  situations  were  really 
wonderful !  That  man  Lade  .  .  .  the  curious  ring  he 
wore  .  .  .  the — that  Thing  in  the  wardrobe  .  .  « 
and  The  Girl.  .  .  . 

Whilst  his  pen  hovered  over  the  paper  for  a  smash- 
ing, opening  sentence,  his  features  became  taut.  There 
was  a  picture  facing  him,  and  his  eyes  must  have  been 
playing  him  false,  for,  instead  of  Millais'  Portrait  of  a 
Child,  what  looked  out  at  him  from  the  frame  was  the 
magnetic  face  of  the  Mystery-Girl. 

So  strong  was  the  illusion  that  he  got  up  and  walked 
across  the  room.  But  even  as  he  verified  how  he  had 
been  deceived,  he  fancied  that  the  girl's  image  had 
merely  receded.  .  .  .  She  was  still  watching  him. 

He  clenched  his  teeth.  A  word — an  ugly  word — 
framed  itself  in  his  mind. 

It  was — "coward!" 

He  hadn't  realised  it  before,  lapped  in  the  comfort 
of  that  room,  but  he  had  been  in  danger  of  going  back 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO        53 

on  his  word.  It  had  been  a  preposterous  pledge,  no 
doubt — but  still,  he  had  given  it.  He  had  promised  the 
girl  to  carry  on. 

A  new  wave  of  resolution  whipped  him  as  he  recalled 
the  look  in  the  girl's  face.  She  had  regarded  him  as  a 
poorish  sort  of  adventurer,  without  a  doubt,  but  since 
chance  had  thrust  him  into  the  position,  she  had  made 
her  appeal  out  of  what  had  seemed  sheer  desperation. 

That  talk  about  Europe  being  threatened  with  chaos, 
and  the  hint  that  Great  Britain  was  in  peril,  might  be 
so  much  clotted  nonsense — the  hysterical  outpouring 
of  an  over- wrought  mind — but 

Yet  now  that  he  came  to  think  about  it,  she  had 
shown  no  hysteria  whatever ;  from  first  to  last  she  had 
proved  herself  to  be  one  of  the  coolest  and  most  level- 
headed persons  he  had  ever  met. 

That  made  it  worse ;  if  by  any  conceivable  chance  she 
was  right,  then  he  had  a  double  obligation. 

As  he  flung  the  end  of  his  cigar  away,  he  was  honest 
with  himself:  he  wanted  to  see  the  girl  again — and, 
when  he  saw  her,  he  wanted  to  be  able  to  look  her 
straight  in  the  eyes. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  he  was  prepared  to  start. 
He  had  changed  into  a  very  old  suit  of  tweeds — since 
he  was  supposed  to  be  a  ruined  man,  he  might  as  well 
dress  the  part — and  then  rang  the  bell. 

"I  find  I  have  to  go  away  again,  Mrs.  Chandler. 
Please  keep  any  letters  that  may  come.  I  have  a  little 


54  THE  BLACK  HEART 

business  to  attend  to,  and  I  shall  be  back  as  soon  as 
possible." 

Mrs.  Chandler  was  always  being  surprised  in  the 
ways  of  her  young  men.  With  that  nice  fire,  and  a  good 
dinner  inside  him,  one  would  have  thought  that  Mr. 
Chertsey  would  have  been  content  where  he  was — and 
if  he  wanted  something  to  occupy  his  mind,  he  could 
have  done  a  bit  of  his  writing. 

But  Mrs.  Chandler  knew  her  place. 

"Staying  with  friends,  Mr.  Chertsey?"  she  asked, 
politely. 

"Er — yes,  of  a  sort,"  was  the  reply,  as  he  got  into  his 
oldest  overcoat  and  picked  up  the  small  handbag. 

Chertsey  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  patrolling  figure : 
possibly  the  murder  had  been  discovered,  and  the  house 
was  being  watched. 

With  some  difficulty  he  found  the  noisome  alley, 
climbed  the  wall,  and  dropped  into  the  neglected  gar- 
den of  712,  Guildford  Street. 

The  thought  of  what  he  had  left  in  the  room  above 
sent  a  cold  shiver  passing  through  him. 

Then  calling  upon  his  resolution,  he  started  to  mount 
the  iron  staircase  that  stretched  gaunt  and  spectral-like 
in  the  wan  light  of  the  moon. 

Hesitating  for  a  moment,  to  see  if  he  could  catch 
any  sound,  he  pushed  open  the  bathroom  window  and 
passed  inside. 

Still  he  could  not  hear  a  sound.  The  flat  seemed  as 
deserted  as  when  he  left  it. 


CHERTSEY  PLAYS  THE  HERO         55 

He  examined  the  two  rooms,  but  nothing  appeared 
disturbed. 

The  dead  man !  He  did  not  like  the  idea  of  sleeping 
with  that  ghastly  presence  in  the  room. 

Cautiously  he  opened  the  wardrobe  door. 

He  stood  stupefied. 

The  corpse  was  gone! 


Chapter  VI 
A  ROOM  IN  BERKELEY  SQUARE 

THIS  room  in  the  very  heart  of  Mayfair,  Lon- 
don Society's  most  fashionable  quarter,  was 
half  in  shadow. 

Still,  there  was  sufficient  light  to  disclose  its  rare 
charm,  an  elegant  standard-lamp  of  antique  silver 
diffusing  a  soft  glow  through  its  parchment-coloured 
vellum  shade. 

The  room  was  L-shaped,  long,  with  a  deep  recess  to 
the  right  at  the  far  end.  The  walls  were  covered  with  a 
rich,  old-gold  paper,  which  formed  an  artistic  back- 
ground to  the  Gobelin  blue  carpet  and  heavy  velvet 
curtains  of  the  same  tone. 

Several  rare  pieces  of  Chippendale  stood  about;  and 
in  the  recess  where  the  man  was  writing,  a  magnificent 
bookcase  rose  almost  to  the  ceiling,  entirely  covering 
the  three  walls. 

A  room,  it  seemed,  for  quiet  reflection — the  room  of 
a  student  and  of  a  lover  of  the  beautiful. 

Yet  the  light  which  fell  from  the  small  lamp  on  the 
writing-table  showed  a  face  malignantly  distorted. 

"The  cursed  fools !"  The  words  fell  from  his  lips  in 
three  separate  spasms  of  anger. 

56 


A  ROOM  IN  BERKELEY    SQUARE      57 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  was  angry  because  some  subordin- 
ates had  blundered  with  one  of  his  plans.  Although 
this  was  a  sufficiently  rare  occurrence,  he  objected 
fiercely  to  any  of  his  schemes  miscarrying. 

Signing  his  name  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter  he  had 
just  written,  he  rose. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  was  a  striking  personality.  Over  six 
feet  in  height,  the  grace  of  his  slim  figure  and  the 
aristocratic  cast  of  his  features  singled  him  out.  He 
was  said  to  be  the  best-dressed  man  within  a  mile  of 
St.  James's  Street,  and  he  certainly  carried  his  clothes 
with  marked  distinction. 

He  was  clean-shaven  except  for  a  small,  immaculate, 
iron-grey  moustache.  It  was  not  until  one  had  been  in 
his  presence  for  some  time  that  the  secret  of  the  per- 
petual sneer  he  wore  was  explained  by  the  drooping  of 
the  mouth.  But  the  expression  of  habitual  contempt  had 
now  been  wiped  away  by  the  rage  which  possessed  him. 

He  was  interrupted  in  his  pacing  of  the  floor  by  a 
faint  click.  Turning,  he  saw  a  section  of  the  bookcase 
moving  inwards.  From  the  aperture  thus  made  stepped 
a  man. 

It  was  Sylvester  Lade. 

Benisty  had  swung  round  quickly,  although  the  noise 
made  was  hardly  audible:  the  cabinetmaker  who  had 
done  this  job  was  a  craftsman.  His  face  became  more 
composed  when  he  recognised  his  visitor. 

"I  should  have  given  you  the  signal,  Benisty,"  the 
caller  said  in  a  tone  of  apology,  "but  I  was  in  a  hurry." 


58  THE  BLACK  HEART 

While  the  other  man  looked  at  him  curiously,  he  went 
on :  "I've  just  seen  your  man." 

"Chertsey?"  The  word  was  snapped. 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

Lade  gave  a  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"In  my  tea-rooms  off  Jermyn  Street.  By  the  way," 
he  broke  off  quickly,  "he  was  keeping  bad  company." 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  raised  his  eyebrows.  The  act  was 
a  question  in  itself. 

"He  was  with  the  girl  Trentham.  Don't  ask  me  why, 
because  I  don't  know.  It  was  a  damn  risky  thing  for 
Thibau  to  do,  it  seems  to  me,  sending  over  a  man  about 
whom  he  knows  nothing."  The  bell-like  voice  had  lost 
something  of  its  silvery  quality  through  the  force  of 
the  speaker's  feelings. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  raised  a  slim,  carefully-tended  hand 
to  his  moustache. 

"Thibau  takes  the  responsibility,"  he  said,  in  a  note 
of  finality.  "I  have  never  discovered  the  Frenchman  to 
be  wrong  in  his  estimate  of  human  character." 

The  other  persisted. 

"But  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  him?" 

"I  shall  find  a  use  for  Mr.  Chertsey,"  was  the  re- 
sponse ;  and  with  that,  the  worst  man  in  London,  who 
not  only  knew  the  speaker,  but  feared  him,  had  to  be 
content. 

"Where  is  Chertsey  now?"  Benisty 's  manner  was 
anxious. 

"I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you  that  the  police  raided 


A.  ROOM  IN  BERKELEY  SQUARE      59 

the  tea-rooms  to-night.  No,  they  didn't  grab  friend 
Chertsey — I  saw  to  that.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  didn't 
grab  anyone.  I'm  rather  at  a  loss  to  know  what  it 
means — except  that  the  girl  Trentham  was  sitting  with 
Chertsey  at  the  time."  His  look  at  the  other  was 
understood. 

"That  young  lady  is  certainly  becoming  rather 
troublesome;  I  shall  have  to  see  about  it,"  commented 
Benisty.  "But  Chertsey — where  is  he?" 

"He  left  me  with  the  intention,  I  understood,  of 
returning  to  712,  Guildford  Street." 

"He  said  that?" 

"He  made  a  particular  point  of  saying  it." 

A  pause  followed. 

"Those  fools  blundered  the  job  with  Simpson !"  was 
Sir  Luke  Benisty's  next  startling  sentence.  "If  Chertsey 
found  Simpson's  dead  body  in  the  flat,  the  probability 
is,  I  suppose,  that  he  would  have  informed  the  police." 

Sylvester  Lade  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"I  don't  think  friend  Chertsey  will  be  bothering  the 
police  for  a  while,"  he  rejoined:  "there  was  a  rough 
and  tumble  at  the  tea-rooms  to-night  and  Chertsey 
knocked  out  a  detective-sergeant  in  a  very  workmanlike 
fashion." 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  though 
relieving  them  of  a  burden. 

"Sometimes,"  he  remarked,  "I  really  think  that  I 
may  be  developing  nerves;  Simpson's  body  is  now — • 
elsewhere — and  there,"  lightly  dusting  his  hands,  "we 
will  leave  it." 


60  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Three  rings,  soft  but  vibrant,  sounded.  They  came 
from  the  direction  of  the  recess. 

"That's  Snell,"  announced  Benisty. 

The  speaker  walked  to  the  wall  facing  him  and 
pressed  an  electric  button. 

The  next  moment  the  aperture  in  the  bookcase  glided 
open  to  admit  another  caller. 

This  man  looked  as  though  he  had  been  born  out 
of  his  age.  He  had  the  manners  and  something  of  the 
dress  of  an  eighteenth-century  fop.  His  overcoat  was 
waisted  and  extravagantly  skirted.  An  immense  black 
stock  afforded  a  striking  contrast  to  a  large,  heavy  face 
that  hadn't  a  vestige  of  colour. 

Harrington  Snell  was  a  well-known,  not  to  say 
notorious  figure  in  the  life  of  the  Metropolis.  He  was 
a  man  whom  all  disliked  and  many  feared.  From  an 
actor  he  had  become  a  writer  of  scandalous  paragraphs 
for  disreputable  papers.  The  mystery  was  that  at  least 
two  clubs  allowed  him  to  remain  a  member;  and  at 
twelve  o'clock  each  morning  his  startlingly  pallid  face, 
with  the  dull,  fish-like  eyes,  and  the  loose,  flaccid  mouth, 
could  be  seen  in  the  bow  window  of  a  Piccadilly  club, 
looking  out  upon  the  world.  Many  stories  were  told  of 
Barrington  Snell — and  the  more  extravagant  and  in- 
credible these  were,  the  greater  probability  had  they  of 
being  true.  It  was  only  in  a  great  capital  that  such  a 
man  could  have  lived;  and  it  was  in  the  multiple 
wickednesses  of  the  hidden  parts  of  London  that  he 
exercised  his  dubious  callings  of  blackmailer  and  loath- 
some parasite. 


A  ROOM  IN  BERKELEY  SQUARE      61 

Although  he  had  left  the  stage,  Barrington  Snell 
retained  his  actor's  voice. 

"Good  evening,  Sir  Luke,  and  you,  Sylvester,"  he 
said,  in  rolling  tones.  Strolling  to  a  huge  antique  silver 
bowl  containing  chrysanthemums  of  beautiful  autumn 
tints,  he  selected  a  bloom  and  placed  it  in  his  button- 
hole. 

"What's  your  news,  Snell?"  asked  Benisty,  per- 
emptorily. He  used  this  man,  but  Snell's  presence  was 
always  physically  offensive. 

"The  information  I  have  been  able  to  gather  to- 
night," replied  Barrington  Snell,  "is  to  the  effect  that 
our  friend  from  across  the  water  is  to  be  expected 
quite  soon — on  Wednesday,  in  fact.  He  is  travelling 
incognito  as  'Mr.  James  Forbes,'  a  buyer  of  woollen 
goods.  The  ship  is  the  Morengaria." 

Sylvester  Lade  broke  in. 

"Are  you  going  to  deal  with  this  American  here?"  he 
asked  Sir  Luke  Benisty. 

"No — Paris!"  snapped  the  other. 


Chapter  VII 
INTRODUCING  NAPOLEON  MILES 

A  I  HOUR  after  Sir  Luke  Benisty  had  said  the 
words,  two  men  settled  into  their  places  at 
Rimini's.  The  table  had  been  reserved,  which 
accounted  for  it  not  being  already  occupied. 

As  the  maitre  d' hot  el  walked  away  with  an  apprecia- 
tive smile  for  the  dishes  chosen,  the  Hon.  William 
Summers  ("Billsum"  to  his  intimates)  turned  to  his 
companion. 

"We  can  talk  here,"  he  said;  "that  is  why  I  tele- 
phoned to  Pauli  to  keep  this  particular  table.  Well,  you 
dear  but  eccentric  ass,  what  is  your  latest  escapade?" 

The  man  addressed,  smiled.  He  was  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  having  that  clean-cut,  slightly  ironic, 
determined  appearance  of  the  best  type  of  young 
American.  The  challenge  of  the  somewhat  penetrating 
grey  eyes  was  relieved  by  the  whimsical  shape  of  the 
mouth. 

"You're  very  disrespectful,"  he  replied. 

That  rising  young  politician,  William  Summers, 
resorted  to  slang. 

"Come  off  it,  Nap !"  he  urged ;  "spill  the  beans !" 

62 


INTRODUCING  NAPOLEON  MILES  63 

The  young  man  who  rejoiced  (and  suffered)  under 
the  curious  cognomen  of  Napoleon  Miles,  made  an 
apologetic  laugh. 

"Under  the  name  of  'Paul  Lorenzo/  I  am  engaged 
to  sing  a  few  songs  every  night  to  my  own  guitar 
accompaniment,"  he  replied;  "you  should  come  and 
hear  me." 

The  son  of  the  Earl  of  Darthaven  forgot  his  recent 
worries  and  burst  into  a  laugh  that  drew  attention  to 
the  corner  table  in  the  balcony. 

"My  sainted  aunt,  Nap,  what's  the  idea?  Where  do 
you  do  this  troubadour  stunt?" 

"At  the  Cafe  of  the  Rosy  Dawn,"  gravely  replied 
the  other;  "it  is  a  good  engagement;  they  are  paying 
me  thirty  pounds  a  week.  If  I  do  well,  it  may  lead  to  a 
music-hall  engagement."  The  speaker  paused.  "What 
the  hell  are  you  laughing  at?"  he  inquired,  politely. 

Billsum  went  off  into  a  fresh  roar. 

"Why  'Paul  Lorenzo'  ?"  he  managed  to  gasp. 

"Why  not?"  came  the  imperturbable  response. 

"And  why  not  the  saxophone?"  persisted  Summers. 

"It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  the  saxophone,"  retorted 
Miles ;  "that's  not  mine — it's  too  good  for  me — I  read 
it  somewhere." 

"I  thought  I  knew  a  considerable  bit  about  you, 
Nap,"  now  said  Summers,  "but  I'll  be  hanged  if  you 
haven't  given  me  a  fresh  shock.  I  wasn't  aware  that  you 
played  the  guitar." 

"I  do,"  remarked  Napoleon  Miles,  modestly;  "and 
I  also  sing — quite  nicely.  Come  and  hear  me  to-night." 


64  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"All  right,  I  will,"  replied  Summers,  and  then  went 
off  into  a  third  fit  of  laughter. 

The  situation  was  preposterously  ludicrous.  The  man 
sitting  next  to  him  was  the  possessor  of  five  million 
dollars  at  least,  and  yet  he  was  hiring  himself  out  as  a 
sort  of  twentieth-century  troubadour! 

"What  made  you  do  it  ?"  he  now  inquired. 

"Got  fed  up  with  things  at  home.  Thought  I'd  like 
to  see  Europe  again  before  I  die ;  decided  with  the  high 
cost  of  living  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  that  I  had  to 
pay  my  hotel  bill  somehow;  met  a  man  in  Wash — I 
mean  New  York — who  told  me  how — and  here  I  am." 

"You're  stark,  raving  mad !"  retorted  Billsum,  coldly ; 
"feed  your  face!"  for  by  this  time  the  first  course  had 
arrived. 

The  Hon.  William  Summers  continued  to  chuckle  as 
he  ate.  In  spite  of  his  promising  rise  in  politics,  he  had 
a  well-developed  sense  of  humour — years  after  he  went 
down  from  Oxford,  that  dignified  seat  of  learning  told 
stories  illustrative  of  this — but  the  good-looking,  young 
American  millionaire,  with  whom  he  had  struck  up  a 
warm  friendship  three  years  before,  when  on  a  visit  to 
Washington  as  an  assistant  private  secretary  to  the 
British  Foreign  Secretary,  Sir  Frankland  Fordyce,  was 
the  greatest  practical  joker  he  had  ever  met.  A  fellow 
with  the  equivalent  of  a  million  English  pounds, 
strumming  a  guitar  in  a  club  that  was  nightly  filled  with 
a  jazz-mad  crowd !  It  was  beyond  him. 

"Never  mind  my  insignificant  self,"  said  Napoleon 


INTRODUCING  NAPOLEON  MILES     65 

Miles,  pouring  himself  out  a  glass  of  wine;  "what  about 
you,  Bill — you  look  worried  to  me?" 

"I  am  worried,"  he  confessed,  in  a  low  tone,  after 
looking  round;  "we  are  all  worried — the  Government, 
I  mean.  I  can  talk  to  you,  Nap,  because  I  know  you  can 
be  absolutely  trusted,  and  because,  being  an  American, 
you  are  outside  of  this  hurly-burly  that  is  going  on." 

"Hurly-burly?"  Summers  was  not  looking  at  Miles, 
or  he  would  have  noticed  that  the  other's  expression 
had  changed.  The  eyes  were  still  penetrating,  but  the 
whimsicality  had  gone  from  his  mouth. 

The  Hon.  William  Summers  laid  down  his  knife  and 
fork  and  leaned  across  the  table.  His  voice,  when  he 
resumed  speaking,  was  anxious. 

"There's  a  devil's  brew  being  mixed  in  Europe," 
he  said;  "and  England,  as  usual,  will  be  dragged  into 
it.  I'm  not  sure,"  he  went  on,  "that  we* re  not  already 
in  it — and  up  to  our  neck,  too!  You  understand,  old 
man,  that  I'm  going  outside  my  province,  and  that  I'm 
exceeding  my  duty  in  talking  to  anyone  in  this  strain, 
but  you're  an  American,  and " 

"When  the  time  comes,  Bill,"  said  Miles,  with  so 
much  gravity  that  the  Foreign  Office  official  stared 
wonderingly,  "you  will  find  that  America  will  recognise 
that  the  two  nations  are  composed  of  men  who  are 
brothers.  One  of  my  uncles  is  at  Washington — that's 
why  I  know,"  he  added,  rather  confusedly. 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  replied  Summers,  fervently; 
"the  future  peace  of  the  world  depends  on  a  union  be- 


66  THE  BLACK  HEART 

tween  the  two  great  English-speaking  nations.  They 
talk  about  the  League  of  Nations,"  an  infinite  contempt 
had  come  into  his  voice,  "but  what  does  it  all  amount 
to?  So  much  newspaper  dope!  We  have  ex-ministers 
of  the  Crown  broadcasting  their  opinion  that  a  new 
era  of  peace  on  earth  and  goodwill  towards  nations  is 
coming,  when — my  God!  if  everyone  in  this  country 
only  knew  the  truth !"  Summers  broke  off  to  stare. 

"Don't  think  me  melodramatic,  Nap,"  he  said,  "but 
if  I  had  sufficient  moral  courage,  I  should  shoot  that 
man  down  there  on  sight.  And  I  should  be  a  far  better 
patriot  for  doing  it." 

The  American  followed  his  gaze. 

"You  surely  don't  mean  that  fellow  who  looks  like 
the  whole  of  Debrett  rolled  into  one?"  he  asked.  He 
was  looking  at  a  tall,  noticeably-distinguished  man  of 
fifty-five,  who  moved  across  the  crowded  lower  floor 
of  the  restaurant  with  effortless  grace. 

"I  do !"  was  the  blunt  reply.  "That  man  is  the  blackest 
traitor  that  the  mind  can  conjure  up.  His  name  is  Sir 
Luke  Benisty,  and  he  is  an  Englishman.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  used  to  be  attached  to  the  Foreign  Office 
himself,  being  employed  as  a  King's  Messenger.  There 
was  some  scandal — I  don't  exactly  know  what,  because 
everyone  is  so  deucedly  reticent  about  it — but,  anyway, 
Benisty  left  the  Service.  The  story  he  told  was  that  he 
resigned,  but  the  truth  was  that  he  was  hoofed  out. 

"Now  the  curious  thing  is  this:  when  he  was  a 
King's  Messenger,  he  was  known  to  be  a  comparatively 
poor  man,  but  during  the  last  three  years  he  must  have 


INTRODUCING  NAPOLEON  MILES     67 

made  money  at  an  astounding  rate — how,  no  one  seems 
to  know — but  he  lives  in  one  of  the  best  houses  in 
London,  a  sumptuous  place  in  Berkeley  Square,  and 
cuts  any  amount  of  a  dash. 

"A  great  many  people,  my  own  Chief  amongst  them, 
are  practically  certain  that  he  is  a  dead  wrong  'un,  but 
you  know  what  we  British  are — we  always  give  a  fel- 
low like  that  no  end  of  rope — and,  beyond  being  under 
suspicion,  this  precious  swine  is  allowed  to  carry  on 
pretty  well  as  he  likes." 

"What's  his  particular  game?"  asked  Miles. 

"It  seems  far  fetched,"  was  the  grave  answer,  "but 
my  own  opinion  is  that  he  makes  his  money  through 
selling  national  secrets." 

His  companion  softly  whistled. 

"But  how  does  he  get  the  information?  You  say  he 
is  out  of  the  Service  now." 

Summers  savagely  cracked  a  walnut  between  first 
finger  and  thumb. 

"I  wish  to  God  I  knew !"  he  said ;  "one  day  I  intend 
to  know,  and  then "  The  sentence  was  not  com- 
pleted, but  a  second  walnut  was  cracked  with  such  force 
that  the  politician  might  have  harboured  a  personal 
grudge  against  it. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments.  During  this 
time,  the  American  wore  almost  as  thoughtful  an  ex- 
pression as  his  friend. 

"You  make  me  rather  interested  in  the  fellow,"  he 
confessed;  "does  this  Sir  Luke  Benisty  take  any  part 
in  the  night  life  of  the  Town  ?  Because  if  he  does,  and 


68  THE  BLACK  HEART 

he  wanders  into  the  Cafe  of  the  Rosy  Dawn  whilst 
I'm  doing  my  Blondel  act,  I'll  keep  my  eyes  skinned." 

The  words  were  uttered  jocularly  enough,  but  they 
had  an  underlying  gravity. 

"It's  funny  you  should  say  that,  Nap,"  rejoined 
Summers,  "but  only  this  morning  a  newspaper  man 
I  know  vouchsafed  the  information  that  one  of  this 
swine  Benisty's  pet  cronies  is  Sylvester  Lade." 

"Sylvester  Lade?  Why,  that's  the  fellow  I'm  under 
contract  with.  Isn't  he  the  Big  Noise  of  the  London 
Night  Clubs?" 

Summers  smiled — rather  grimly. 

"He's  something  more  than  that,"  he  supplied; 
"Sylvester  Lade  has  the  reputation  of  being  the  vilest 
thing  in  human  form  that  even  London  can  produce 
at  the  present  time.  He's  run  very  close  by  another 
skunk  called  Barrington  Snell,  but  if  half  the  stories 
I  have  heard  are  true,  Lade  can  give  the  other  fifty 
yards,  start  in  the  hundred  and  still  beat  him  easily. 
Lade  is  a  kind  of  human  fiend :  there  is  no  form  of  vice 
which  he  cannot  supply,  providing  the  devotee  has  the 
necessary  cash.  He  runs  opium  joints  in  the  East  End, 
and  unmentionable  dens  in  the  West  End.  To  the  world, 
of  course,  he  is  the  proprietor  of  several  bona  fide 
night  clubs;  and  it  is  in  this  connection  that  you  will 
meet  him." 

"You  seem  to  have  an  interesting  lot  of  guys  amongst 
your  acquaintances,  Bill,"  commented  the  American; 
"tell  me,  old  lad,  how  shall  I  know  this  Lade  person 
when  I  see  him?" 


INTRODUCING  NAPOLEON  MILES     69 

Summers  looked  his  questioner  straight  in  the  face. 

"You  won't  be  able  to  mistake  him,"  he  said; 
"Sylvester  Lade  has  the  face  of  a  saint  and  the  eyes  of 
a  devil." 

"And  you  say  this  guy  is  an  associate  of  Sir  Luke 
Benisty?" 

"I  am  told  so  by  a  man  who  generally  knows  what 
he  is  talking  about." 

Napoleon  Miles  looked  at  his  watch. 

"I  must  be  pushing  off,"  he  announced;  "thanks  for 
a  very  interesting  hour,  Bill,  my  boy.  I'll  store  away 
all  that  you've  told  me,  and  if  ever  I  get  the  chance  to 
do  the  dirty  on  either  of  the  gentlemen  in  question, 
trust  little  Napoleon  to  be  on  the  job !" 

The  smile  with  which  the  American  had  uttered  this 
sentiment  quickly  vanished  as  his  eye  caught  someone 
in  the  brilliant,  shifting  crowd  below. 

"Now  I'll  be  sensational !"  he  declared ;  "there  walks 
the  most  beautiful  creature  I  have  ever  seen!  Bill,  who 
is  that  wonderful  girl?" 

Forgetting  his  usual  impeccable  manners,  he  pointed 
below. 

The  Hon.  William  Summers  looked  as  directed. 

"Her  name  is  Ann  Trentham,"  he  replied.  "Her 
father  was  a  King's  Messenger — but  he  shot  him- 
self." 

His  tone  did  not  encourage  even  Napoleon  Miles  to 
pursue  the  subject. 


Chapter  VIII 
CHERTSEY  HAS  A  CALLER 

CHERTSEY  had  not  spent  a  restful  night.  This 
sleight-of-hand  business  with  the  corpse  was 
inconducive  to  untroubled  sleep. 

That  dead  man,  although  vanished,  held  his  atten- 
tion. Who  had  come  to  snatch  the  body  away?  And 
where  had  they  taken  it? 

One  fact  emerged  fairly  clearly:  that  was  that  he 
had  not  been  intended  to  see  the  handiwork  of  the 
poisoner ! 

It  was  inevitable  that  his  thoughts  should  return 
to  the  girl.  But  for  her,  he  would  have  dismissed  the 
whole  affair,  apart  from  utilising  the  facts  as  fiction 
material. 

She  fascinated  him.  There  were  a  charm  and  a  tang 
about  her  which  were  irresistible.  Even  if  it  meant  his 
death,  he  knew  that  he  could  not  abandon  his  connec- 
tion with  this  business  until  he  had  solved  the  mystery 
which  surrounded  this  girl.  When  that  was  done,  he 
would  tell  the  Unknown  he  loved  her — ask  her 

He  smiled  ruefully  in  the  darkness.  Only  a  modern 
d'Artagnan  could  hope  to  claim  such  a  vital  creature 

70 


CHERTSEY  HAS  A  CALLER  71 

in  marriage.  What  chance  would  he  possibly  have  ?  She 
would  look  at  him  in  polite  pity,  and  shake  her  small, 
glorious  head.  That  would  be  the  end  of  his  ridiculous 
dream. 

Would  it?  Not  if  he  could  help  it!  Something  was 
stirring  within  him — something  which  he  had  not  ex- 
perienced before.  Up  to  the  time  of  being  accosted  by 
that  stealthy  duo,  Lefarge  and  Thibau,  at  the  Cafe  de  la 
Paix,  when  sitting  at  the  corner  table  that  overlooked 
the  Boulevard  des  Capucines,  life  for  him  had  run 
along  very  easy  lines.  The  jars  had  been  few  and 
the  cushions  many.  Most  of  the  things  Gilbert  Chertsey 
had  desired  he  had  been  able  to  obtain,  and  those  which 
proved  elusive,  he  did  not  bother  a  great  deal  about. 
Existence,  in  the  main,  had  been  a  matter  of  drifting 
down  a  pleasant  stream. 

Now  he  had  been  bumped  with  a  vengeance!  The 
shock  had  been  literally  staggering.  He  wondered  him- 
self how  he  had  rallied  until  he  sought  for  the  reason. 
This  found,  there  in  the  darkness,  he  resolved  that, 
although  this  girl  of  mystery  was  bound  to  shake  her 
head,  he  would — one  day — ask  her  to  be  his  wife! 
Heaven  knew  how  he  was  to  sustain  the  role — but  she 
was  essential  to  him;  so  he  must  hazard  his  chance. 
Win  or  lose,  Life  could  never  be  the  same  for  him 
again.  The  very  fact  of  meeting  her  had  been  a  suf- 
ficiently thrilling  experience,  which  could  never  be  for- 
gotten. He  had  tasted  of  a  joy  which  left  him  dazed  and 
breathless :  henceforth,  he  would  be  like  a  slave  to  an 
intoxicating  drug. 


72  THE  BLACK  HEART 

What  could  be  the  mystery  of  this  girl?  Although 
he  did  not  believe  a  word  the  man  with  the  hooded 
eyes  had  said,  yet  it  certainly  was  a  curious  fact  that 
the  police  raid  should  have  coincided  with  her  visit  to 
that  underground  den.  And  why  had  she  gone  there  in 
the  first  place? 

He  considered  now  his  own  position.  His  action  in 
trying  to  save  the  girl  from  arrest  had  placed  him  in 
a  situation  of  some  danger.  Scotland  Yard,  from  what 
he  had  heard  and  read,  was  not  partial  to  having  its 
officers  pelted  on  the  jaw,  no  matter  how  unpleasant 
were  the  faces  which  the  same  officers  possessed.  From 
now  on,  no  doubt,  he  would  be  under  suspicion,  if  not 
actual  surveillance,  for  there  were  two  ugly  facts 
recorded  against  him.  One,  being  found  on  raided 
premises,  and,  two,  offering  violent  resistance  to  police- 
officers  in  the  execution  of  their  duty. 

The  old  Gilbert  Chertsey  would  possibly  have  felt  a 
cold  wave  pass  down  his  spine  at  the  very  thought ;  the 
new  experienced  a  sense  of  something  like  exaltation. 
Ridiculous,  no  doubt,  but  hadn't  he  got  himself  into 
this  trough  of  trouble  through  service  to  the  lady 
whose  liegeman  he  had  become  ? 

The  reflection  was  satisfying,  for  he  fell  into  another 
fit  of  slumber  which  lasted  until  eight  o'clock. 

With  the  murky  streaks  of  light  coming  in  through 
the  window  over  the  neighbouring  house-tops,  Chertsey 
sprang  out  of  bed. 

A  cold  tub  gave  him  the  feeling  that  he  was  ready 
for  anything  which  might  crop  up.  In  fact,  the  change 


CHERTSEY  HAS  A  CALLER  73 

which  had  taken  place  in  his  mental  processes  now  in- 
spired in  him  a  definite  longing  for  action  of  some 
sort. 

Passing  through  the  hall  into  the  sitting-room,  he 
noticed  that  a  morning  newspaper  had  been  pushed 
through  the  door.  Kindly  thought!  He  showed  his 
appreciation  by  picking  it  up,  and  perusing  it  from 
front  page  to  last,  in  front  of  the  gas-fire  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

He  had  mastered  the  news  sensation  of  the  day,  and 
had  smiled  as  he  compared  its  anaemic  qualities  with 
his  own  adventure  the  night  before,  when  there  was  a 
ring  and  a  rumbling  sound. 

Chertsey  wondered  what  new  development  this  might 
be,  until  he  saw  an  array  of  dishes  arrive  on  the  service 
lift. 

Breakfast ! 

That,  certainly,  was  a  cheering  thought.  The  idea 
did  flash  across  his  mind  momentarily  that  the  same 
fate  might  have  been  prepared  for  him  as  for  his  prede- 
cessor, but  a  rapidly  increasing  sense  of  hunger  ban- 
ished this  melancholy  reflection. 

The  unseen  power  in  the  kitchen  had  not  spared  her 
labours :  Chertsey,  when  he  had  set  the  dishes  out,  found 
porridge,  bacon  and  eggs,  toast  and  marmalade,  await- 
ing his  attention.  The  coffee  was  piping  hot,  and,  with 
the  rest  of  the  viands,  smelt  delicious. 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  later,  with  the  tobacco 
in  his  pipe  burning  evenly,  Chertsey  wondered  what 
was  going  to  happen  next.  He  would  have  liked  to 


74  THE  BLACK  HEART 

ask  that  obliging  hall-porter  a  series  of  searching  ques- 
tions, but  did  not  consider  the  procedure  discreet. 

But  what  was  he  to  do?  Was  he  expected  to  stay  in 
until  someone  called? 

He  was  not  given  much  more  time  to  speculate,  as 
a  few  moments  later  the  flat  door-bell  rang. 

With  that  quickened  sense  of  excitement  which  had 
now  become  so  familiar,  he  went  into  the  hall. 

Outside  the  door  a  tall,  distinguished-looking  man, 
of  late  middle  age,  stood  smiling. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Chertsey!" 

The  novelist  replied  in  kind. 

"So  charming  of  you  to  look  me  up — won't  you 
come  in?" 

The  words  had  the  effect  of  relieving  the  other 
man's  face  of  much  of  its  geniality,  but  the  caller  im- 
mediately accepted  the  invitation. 

Chertsey  maintained  his  attitude  of  casual  banter. 

"You  must  excuse  the  smallness  of  my  present 
quarters,"  he  remarked ;  "the  fact  is,  this  flat  was  taken 
for  me.  I  only  moved  in  last  night." 

"May  I  ask  at  what  time,  Mr.  Chertsey?" 

"Oh,  late-ish,"  almost  yawned  the  novelist. 

The  visitor  seemed  about  to  ask  some  more  ques- 
tions, but  restrained  himself,  and  sat  down. 

"To  be  serious,  Mr.  Chertsey "  he  started. 

"Certainly !  In  the  first  place,  may  I  open  the  ball  by; 
inquiring  to  whom  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking?" 

The  caller  took  out  a  gold  cigarette  case  and  passed 
it  to  the  speaker. 


CHERTSEY  HAS  A  CALLER  75 

"My  name  is  Sir  Luke  Benisty,"  he  said;  "and  if 
you  will  be  patient  with  me,  Mr.  Chertsey,  I  shall  be 
pleased  to  explain  much  that  no  doubt  to  your  mind 
requires  explanation." 

Although  the  words  caused  the  listener's  nerves  to 
tingle,  Chertsey,  made  confident  by  that  newly-acquired 
sense  of  resolution,  continued  to  play  his  cards  with  a 
certain  amount  of  finesse. 

"Well — I  don't  mind  confessing  that  the  situation, 
as  it  stands  at  present,  seems  more  than  a  bit  rummy," 
he  said.  "If  I  hadn't  been  cleaned  out  in  Paris,  I  don't 
know  that  I  should  have  taken  up  the  proposition — 
especially  as  it  came  from  two  strangers." 

The  caller  smiled  conciliatorily. 

"Those  two  men  were  my  agents,  Mr.  Chertsey,  and 
after  you  have  heard  my  explanation,  I  think  you  will 
agree  that  they  acted  only  wisely  in  showing  the  cir- 
cumspection which  they  did."  He  paused,  and  the  con- 
viction to  which  Chertsey  came  was  that  although  this 
man  conceivably  was  a  liar,  yet,  with  his  perfect  man- 
ners and  charming  bonhomie,  he  was  an  artist  at  the 
job. 

"No  doubt  they  showed  admirable  judgment,  Sir 
Luke,"  replied  Chertsey;  "but  will  you  excuse  me  if  I 
say  that  I  am  anxious  to  know  what  it  all  means.  The 
ten  thousand  francs  which  the  worthy  Thibau — or  was 
it  the  estimable  Lefarge? — I  really  forget — paid  me 
was  very  welcome,  but  I  understood  there  were  other 
benefits  accruing  if — "  he  tried  to  make  his  pause 
sound  significant — "I  exercised  tact  and  discretion." 


76  THE  BLACK  HEART 

The  caller's  frown  softened.  Some  trace  of  his 
former  geniality  returned. 

"Thibau — it  must  have  been  Thibau — told  you 
that!" 

"He  certainly  did,"  said  Chertsey,  warming  to  his 
subject ;  "and  very  welcome  it  was  to  hear  it,  Sir  Luke. 
I  don't  mind  admitting  that  when  your  two  agents  spoke 
to  me  at  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  I  was  feeling  rather 
desperate." 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  inclined  his  head. 

"These  periods  of  misfortune  have  come  to  all  of 
us,"  he  said,  sympathetically.  "You  are  a  novelist,  I 
believe,  Mr.  Chertsey?"  he  continued. 

Gilbert  Chertsey 's  imagination  was  now  in  full  fiood. 
At  the  risk  of  overdoing  it,  he  persisted  in  his  banter. 

"A  novelist!  Paugh!  It  sounds  impressive,  Sir 
Luke — but  what  does  it  really  mean?  It  meant  when  I 
was  in  Paris  that  I  had  exactly  two  francs  in  my 
pocket." 

"I  have  heard  it  is  only  to  a  few  writers  that  riches 
come,"  commented  the  caller,  in  that  same  tone  of 
sympathy. 

He  looked  keenly  at  the  younger  man. 

"However,"  he  added,  "if  you  really  prove  to  possess 
the  necessary  qualifications  of  tact  and  discretion, 
coupled,  perhaps,  with  a  certain  amount  of  physical 
courage,  your  troubles  may  prove  to  be  at  an  end.  I 
am  willing  to  help  you." 

"That's  awfully  good  of  you,  sir."  Chertsey  this 


CHERTSEY  HAS  A  CALLER  77 

time  endeavoured  to  make  his  voice  sound  as  sincere 
as  possible. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  carefully  knocked  the  ash  from  his 
cigarette. 

"What  I  am  about  to  say,  Mr.  Chertsey,  may  startle 
you  perhaps,  but  nevertheless  I  wish  you  to  understand 
that  I  am  perfectly  serious.  I  am  rich,  and  I  have  a 
hobby,  or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  truthful  to  say,  a 
vocation,  which  causes  me  to  enlist  from  time  to  time 
the  services  of  just  such  young  men  as  yourself.  Now, 
if  you  will  continue  to  give  me  your  attention,  I  will 
explain  in  more  detail. 

"Briefly,  I  am  dissatisfied  with  the  manner  in  which 
the  police  and  the  allied  branches  of  order  conduct 
their  business.  Their  methods,  in  my  view,  are  too  lax. 
Consequently,  at  enormous  expense  to  myself,  I  have 
effected  an  organisation  of  my  own  which,  from  time 
to  time,  and  as  I  think  fit,  takes  the  law  into  its  own 
hands  and  administers  justice  according  to  my  own 
idea." 

"That's  mighty  interesting,  sir,"  commented  the 
listener.  Chertsey  did  the  other  this  honour :  he  might 
be  a  liar,  but  certainly  he  was  an  ingenious  one. 

As  Benisty  kept  silent,  he  ventured  another  remark : 
"But,  surely,  it's  very  risky?" 

The  caller  raised  a  white,  slim  hand  to  caress  the  end 
of  his  immaculate  moustache. 

"Certainly,  it's  risky;  that's  what  makes  it  so  inter- 
esting. And,  because  of  that  fact,  I  am  willing  to  pay 


78  THE  BLACK  HEART 

big  salaries  to  the  men  whose  services  I  engage.  Let  me 
tell  you  this,  Mr.  Chertsey :  that  the  work  I  am  doing 
is  of  the  very  highest  importance  to  the  nation,  although 
the  authorities  with  their  official  blindness  could  not 
be  made  to  recognise  the  fact." 

Chertsey  affected  an  eagerness  which  was  not  wholly 
assumed. 

"When  can  I  start?"  he  asked. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  smiled  in  what  he  might  have  sup- 
posed was  an  ingratiating  manner.  White  teeth  showed 
beneath  that  trim,  iron-grey  moustache. 

"You  confess  you  are  interested,  then?" 

This  time  it  was  Chertsey  who  smiled. 

"By  Jove!  yes!"  he  declared,  and  again  his  eager- 
ness was  not  wholly  assumed. 

"There  are  some  preliminaries  to  be  undergone,  Mr. 
Chertsey,"  now  said  the  caller.  "I  mentioned  just  now 
that  one  of  the  qualifications  necessary  for  you  to 
possess  in  order  to  join  my — shall  we  call  it  staff? — 
was  a  certain  physical  courage.  Are  you  a  brave  man, 
Mr.  Chertsey?" 

The  smile  by  this  time  struck  the  candidate  as  being 
wolfish.  Not  only  was  Sir  Luke  Benisty  showing  his 
teeth,  but  his  eyes,  beneath  their  lids,  were  giving  off  a 
decided  gleam.  Chertsey  was  repelled,  but  that  newly 
arisen  sense  of  manhood  came  to  his  rescue. 

"I  don't  profess  to  be  anything  wonderful,"  he  re- 
plied ;  "but,  given  the  chance,  I  think  I  could  stick  most 
things  as  well  as  one  here  or  there." 


CHERTSEY  HAS  A  CALLER  79 

The  smile  deepened. 

"You  shall  certainly  have  the  opportunity,"  replied 
Sir  Luke. 

It  must  have  been  his  imagination,  but  Chertsey  felt 
that  the  room  had  suddenly  become  cold. 


Chapter  IX 
"THERE  IS  DANGER" 

CHERTSEY  stiffened  at  the  tone.   The  man 
appeared  to  be  mocking  him. 
"I  am  entirely  at  your  service,  Sir  Luke," 
he  said. 

The  face  of  the  visitor  resumed  its  mask  of  geniality. 

"That  is  delightful,  Mr.  Chertsey.  Very  well;  you 
shall  do  me  the  honour  of  paying  a  visit  to  my  house  in 
Berkeley  Square  to-night.  I  will  send  someone  to  bring 
you." 

He  turned  to  go. 

Chertsey  felt  that  the  air  was  cleaner  directly  the 
door  closed.  Sir  Luke  Benisty  was  a  plausible  person, 
but,  unless  he  was  wrong  in  his  guess,  he  was  also 
a  remarkably  dangerous  person.  That  tale  he  had 
told  ...  it  might  have  done  for  the  plot  of  a  sen- 
sational drama,  but  he  had  been  strongly  tempted  to 
laugh  in  Benisty's  face.  The  only  part  of  it  which  rang 
true  was  the  statement  that  Benisty  went  outside  the 
law.  He  was  fully  prepared  to  believe  that.  But  as  for 
the  rest 

That  night  he  might  learn  more — something  of  the 

80 


"THERE  IS  DANGER"  81 

real  truth  perhaps;  with  this  reflection  he  had  to  be 
content :  there  were  not  many  hours  to  wait. 

Yet  the  waiting  was  very  much  more  trying  than  he 
had  imagined.  He  could  not  get  Sir  Luke  Benisty's 
smile  out  of  his  mind:  the  man,  for  all  his  exquisite 
polish  and  perfect  manners,  when  he  bared  his  teeth  in 
that  mocking  grin,  was  plain  wolf. 

After  lunch  he  decided  to  go  out.  His  appointment 
with  Benisty  was  not  until  the  evening,  and  it  was 
a  delightful  day,  crisp  yet  bright.  Chertsey  thought 
longingly  of  a  sharp  walk  in  the  Park. 

He  had  closed  the  flat  door  when  an  unmistakable 
sound  made  him  pause. 

The  telephone! 

Who  could  be  ringing  up?  He  had  better  answer, 
he  supposed.  But  he  would  have  to  be  careful:  it 
might  be  a  pal  of  the  dead  man's.  Which  reminded 
him:  one  of  the  questions  he  proposed  putting  to  Sir 
Luke  Benisty  at  the  first  opportunity  was  in  reference  to 
the  mysterious  appearance  and  disappearance  of  that 
corpse. 

But  in  the  meantime,  the  'phone-bell  was  ringing  loud 
enough  to  rouse  the  whole  house. 

"Yes  ?"  he  snapped,  and  then :  "It's  you!" 

The  girl's  voice  at  the  other  end  disregarded  the  two 
last  impassioned  words. 

"Who  is  that  speaking?"  she  asked,  coldly. 

"Chertsey— CHERTSEY!"  he  roared. 

"Yes,"  after  a  pause — "I  recognise  your  voice  now. 
But  you  will  understand  that  I  had  to  be  certain." 


82  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"Of  course!  I  understand  that!"  The  man's  voice 
was  eager,  clamant :  the  fact  that  the  girl  had  rung  up 
re-established  the  bond  which  he  had  persuaded  him- 
self existed  between  them.  "I  say,  I  have  some  news 
for  you,"  he  continued,  quickly. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  alone? — that  no  one  can 
hear  you?"  The  words  of  caution  sounded  strained. 

"Quite  sure.  But,  look  here,  can't  I  see  you  again — 
now,  I  mean,  this  afternoon  ?  I  was  just  going  out  for 
a  walk  in  the  Park  when  you  rang  up." 

There  was  another  pause.  Chertsey  thought  that 
they  must  have  been  disconnected,  or  that  the  girl  had 
quietly  rung  off. 

"Are  you  there?"  he  almost  shouted. 

"I  was  thinking,"  came  the  reply ;  "if  you  are  care- 
ful, it  might  be  all  right.  Look  at  your  watch  and  tell 
me  the  time,  please." 

"It's  twenty  minutes  past  two,"  he  replied. 

"You  are  a  minute  fast.  Now  the  probability  is  that 
you  are  being  closely  watched.  If  you  find  you  are,  on 
no  account  come;  but  if  you  decide,  after  leaving  the 
flat,  that  you  are  not  being  followed,  come  to  Lancaster 
Gate  Tube  Station.  I  will  be  waiting  just  inside  the 
Park  Gates  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  Do  not  be 
there  before  a  quarter  past  three — and,  even  if  you 
think  you  are  not  being  followed,  come  by  a  circuitous 
route.  Change  trains  as  many  times  as  you  can — use  up 
the  time  that  way."  There  was  a  click  after  the  last 
word. 


"THERE  IS  DANGER"  83 

Chertsey  remained  by  the  instrument,  softly  caress- 
ing his  chin.  If  any  other  woman  he  had  ever  known 
had  rung  off  in  that  abrupt  manner  without  saying 
good-bye,  he  would  have  exploded.  But  he  admired  the 
mystery-girl  for  her  acumen.  Whether  she  was  right  or 
wrong — and  the  evidence  so  far  in  favour  of  her  being 
right  seemed  overwhelming — she  certainly  left  nothing 
to  chance. 

As  Chertsey  shut  the  flat  door  behind  him,  he  thrilled 
at  a  thought:  in  less  than  an  hour  he  would  be  with 
this  girl  again.  He  would  be  able  to  look  into  her  eyes, 
to  watch  her  lips  framing  words.  .  .  . 

Had  anyone  else  told  him  to  hop  from  train  to  train 
in  the  eccentric  manner  of  the  next  forty  minutes,  he 
would  have  calmly  but  thoroughly  told  them  to  go  to 
the  devil,  but  it  was  with  the  air  of  a  schoolboy  success- 
fully practising  a  prank  that  he  emerged  from  the  lift 
at  Lancaster  Gate  Tube  at  fourteen  minutes  past  three 
o'clock. 

"Were  you  followed?"  asked  the  girl,  a  few  seconds 
later. 

Chertsey  retained  the  small  gloved  hand  which  she 
extended. 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  had  a  good  look  round  when  I 
left  the  flat,  and  I  couldn't  see  anyone  who  appeared 
suspicious.  And  I  seem  to  have  got  in  and  out  of  every 
Tube  train  in  London  since  then.  Please  don't  worry 
about  that." 

The  girl  did  not  reply.  She  led  the  way  to  a  smart 
two-seater  coupe  car  which  stood  by  the  kerb. 


84  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"We  will  drive  through  the  Park,"  she  said;  "we 
shall  be  less  noticeable." 

She  handled  the  car  with  an  expert's  touch  on  the 
wheel.  Beautifully  dressed  as  usual,  her  profile  fasci- 
nated Chertsey,  sitting  engrossed  by  her  side. 

"Tell  me  your  news,"  she  said,  when  they  were  com- 
paratively clear  of  traffic. 

She  listened  without  interruption  until  Chertsey  had 
come  to  an  end. 

Then: 

"There  is  still  time  for  you  to  leave  this  affair,  Mr. 
Chertsey,"  she  said. 

He  turned. 

"Of  course,  I  shall  not  leave;  apart  from  anything 
else,  I  want  to  see  this  fellow,  Sir  Luke  Benisty,  smil- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  his  face." 

The  car  slowed  down. 

"There  may  possibly  be  considerable  danger  at- 
tached to  your  visit  to-night,"  the  girl  replied.  "Benisty 
is  a  dangerous  man — I  doubt  if  there  is  such  another 
in  the  whole  of  the  country — and,"  she  lowered  her 
voice  instinctively,  "you  know  something  which  you 
were  not  intended  to  know." 

Chertsey  nodded. 

"I  arrived  at  the  flat  before  the  proper  time,  I'm 
thinking ;  something  in  their  time-table  must  have  mis- 
carried. Still,  it  seems  to  me  that  if  Benisty  and  his 
crowd  wanted  to  polish  me  off,  they  would  show  a  little 
more  subtlety  than  inviting  me  to  his  house  to  be 


"THERE  IS  DANGER'  85 

poisoned.  That  sort  of  thing  went  out  with  the 
Borgias." 

"Yet  the  dead  man  you  saw  in  the  flat  was  poisoned, 
you  say  ?" 

"I  believe  so.  I  understand  very  little  about  such 
things,  but  the  poor  devil's  face  was  horrible,  and  it 
was  certainly  my  impression  at  the  time  that  he  must 
have  been  poisoned." 

"Sir  Luke  Benisty  has  an  Oriental  strain  in  him," 
was  the  girl's  comment.  "I  feel  bound  to  warn  you 
again,  Mr.  Chertsey,  that  your  visit  to  his  house  to- 
night may  be  attended  by  considerable  danger." 

To  cover  his  real  feelings,  he  endeavoured  to  be 
flippant. 

"If  within  forty-eight  hours  I  do  not  make  a  char- 
acteristically dramatic  reappearance,  please  inform  Sir 
William  Leverston,  my  publisher,  that  I  died  in  the 
execution  of  my  duty." 

An  answering  smile  did  not  appear  on  the  girl's 
face,  which  remained  very  grave. 

"It  was  because  I  was  afraid  that  something  serious 
might  have  happened  that  I  rang  you  up,"  she  said. 

Chertsey  could  have  hugged  her  for  the  solicitude. 
But  he  controlled  his  voice  sufficiently  to  reply :  "That 
was  awfully  kind  of  you." 

This  time  he  made  no  pause,  but  the  girl  must  have 
read  his  mind. 

"My  name  is  Ann  Trentham,"  she  said. 

Ann! 


86  THE  BLACK  HEART 

She  did  not  look  an  Ann — and  yet  she  did,  he  de- 
cided, after  another  glance  at  that  clean-cut  profile 
which  was  so  provokingly  near  him. 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied.  A  slight  flush  coloured  her 
cheeks,  but  she  made  no  other  sign  that  she  had  heard. 

Quickly  he  had  a  fear — not  for  himself  but  for 
her.  It  was  a  genuine  spasm  of  dread. 

"These  men  know  you,  Miss  Trentham.  They 
warned  me  against  being  seen  with  you.  I  must  tell  you 
that.  At  least,  that  underground  cafe  specialist,  Syl- 
vester Lade,  did.  What  a  beauty  he  is :  like  an  archangel 
who's  taken  to  cocaine." 

"When  did  he  say  that?" 

"Before  I  left  the  place  last  night." 

"I  haven't  thanked  you  yet  for  saving  me  a  great 
deal  of  indignity,  Mr.  Chertsey.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
you,  the  police  might  have  worried  me." 

He  looked  straight  into  her  eyes.  The  car  had  stopped 
near  the  Serpentine. 

"May  I  say  something?"  he  asked,  and  when  she 
had  briefly  nodded,  her  eyes  questioning:  "I  cannot 
imagine  you  doing  anything  which  would  cause  the 
police  to  annoy  you,  Miss  Trentham." 

The  reply  was  prompt — and  somewhat  startling.  "I 
might — in  certain  circumstances." 

He  did  not  pursue  the  matter  because  he  could  see 
that  she  did  not  mean  him  to  follow  up  her  remark. 
But  his  conviction  remained  unaltered. 

"I  will  add,  however,"  Ann  Trentham  went  on, 
"that  I'm  not  what  Sylvester  Lade  probably  called 


"THERE  IS  DANGER'  87 

me — a  police-spy.  Far  from  enlisting  the  aid  of  the 
police,  I  intend  to  follow  this  thing  through  on  my 
own." 

She  was  speaking  her  thoughts  aloud,  it  seemed  to 
Chertsey,  rather  than  conversing  with  him;  and,  that 
being  so,  he  did  not  venture  further.  Girl  of  im- 
penetrable mystery  that  she  was,  he  yet  knew  her 
name.  It  was  something,  a  great  deal  to  him  in  his 
present  mood. 

"You  would  like  to  know  what  happens  at  Sir  Luke 
Benisty's  house  to-night?"  he  asked,  after  a  short 
pause. 

She  fumbled  with  the  gauntlet  of  her  glove,  show- 
ing the  first  sign  of  agitation. 

"I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  know,"  she  replied, 
"but " 

"Yes?"  he  encouraged. 

"I  still  feel  that  I  am  asking  you  to  undertake  too 
much.  No,  wait,  please,"  as  he  was  about  to  interrupt, 
"last  night,  I  know,  I  made  a  certain  appeal  to  you.  Be- 
ing a  man,  you  accepted  my  challenge — for  challenge 
it  was — but  now  I  see  quite  clearly  that  I  had  no 
right  to  ask  you  to  run  such  a  risk.  Mr.  Chertsey,  forget 
all  that  I  have  said.  I  will  find  out  the  truth — the  in- 
formation I  am  seeking — for  myself." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  he  rejoined,  in  a 
voice  he  scarcely  recognised  as  his  own:  "for  years 
now  I've  been  living  a  supremely  selfish  and  useless  sort 
of  life.  You  say  big  things  hang  on  this  business " 


88  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"Tremendous  things!"  The  words  were  breathed 
tensely. 

"Very  well,  then!"  said  Chertsey;  "I,  a  useless 
idler,  have  been  given  a  chance  to  prove  that  I  can 
be  something  more  than  a  mere  scribbler  of  high- 
falutin'  nonsense.  I'm  going  to  take  it.  Only," — he 
stopped — "I  want  to  feel  that  I  shall  be  working  with 
you." 

"I  will  give  you  all  the  help  I  can." 

The  simple  words  made  him  buoyant. 

"That  gives  me  a  personal  interest.  But  I  should 
have  had  that  before  in  a  way,  although  to  nothing 
like  the  same  extent.  The  four  people  I  have  so  far 
met  have  certainly  not  been  very  attractive,  and  it 
will  give  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  to  do  them  one  in 
the  eye.  Especially  friend  Benisty.  He  smiled  at  me  this 
morning  in  a  manner  which  I  particularly  disliked.  Of 
course,  I  did  not  believe  a  word  of  that  yarn  he  pitched, 
but  from  his  subsequent  remarks  I  rather  gather  that 
he  and  his  cronies  are  going  to  ascertain  to-night  if  I  am 
a  fit  and  proper  person  to  be  admitted  into  the  exclu- 
sive fellowship  of  The  Black  Heart." 

"The  Black  Heart.  .  .   ." 

His  companion  had  repeated  the  words  in  that  low, 
tense  voice. 

"Find  out  all  you  can  about  The  Black  Heart," 
she  now  said.  "We  mustn't  be  seen  together — re- 
member, they  have  already  warned  you  about  that — but 
I  shall  find  a  way." 

"Won't  you  give  me  your  address — your  telephone 


"THERE  IS  DANGER'  89 

number?"  he  asked.  The  thought  of  being  a  comrade 
to  this  girl  sent  the  blood  surging  through  his  veins. 

"Can  you  remember?  You  had  better  not  have  any- 
thing on  you  in  case  you  are  searched." 

"My  memory  is  the  only  reliable  part  of  a  notoriously 
weak  intellect,"  Chertsey  assured  her. 

She  gave  him  an  address  and  a  telephone  number. 

"Perhaps  it  will  be  better  if  you  write,"  she  ad- 
vised; "one  can  never  tell  when  telephoning,  and,  un- 
less I  am  very  much  mistaken,  Benisty  has  his  spies 
everywhere.  And  now,"  with  a  quick  change  of  tone, 
"I  had  better  drive  you  back  part  of  the  way." 

Chertsey  was  set  down  in  an  unfrequented  spot, 
and,  acting  on  his  instructions,  he  strode  quickly  away 
without  looking  back. 

He  felt  he  was  leaving  his  heart  behind  him. 


Chapter  X 
INITIATION 

I     HAVE  called  to  accompany  you  to  Sir  Luke 
Benisty's  house." 
Chertsey  stared  at  the  speaker.  The  two  men 
connected  with  the  exotically-named  Society  of  The 
Black  Heart  he  had  already  met  were  sufficiently  arrest- 
ing in  their  separate  style,  but  this  caller  was  the 
queerest  fish  of  the  lot  to  his  thinking.  The  gross  face 
of  this  mincing-voiced  giant,  with  the  remarkable  man- 
ner of  dressing,  was  sickeningly  repulsive. 

"My  name  is  Barrington  Snell,"  announced  the 
caller ;  "like  you,  Mr.  Chertsey,  I  have  written.  Memoirs 
and  things  of  that  description  mainly.  Fleet  Street  has 
known  me — knows  me  still.  .  .  .  Do  I  bore  you  ?"  he 
inquired,  languidly,  fixing  a  monocle  in  his  fishy  right 
eye. 

Chertsey  came  out  of  his  temporary  stupor. 

"On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Snell;  you  interest  me  tre- 
mendously. You  are  a  friend  of  Sir  Luke's?" 

"A  personal   friend,"  declared  the  other,  with  an 
emphasis  which,  for  some  reason  he  could  not  define, 
Chertsey  found  odious.  "But,  excuse  me,  we  had  bet- 
go 


INITIATION  91 

ter  be  going.  Sir  Luke  is  the  soul  of  punctuality  him- 
self, and  he  cannot  bear  being  kept  waiting." 

"Two  minutes,  and  I  shall  be  ready,"  replied  the 
novelist.  He  was  as  good  as  his  word. 

His  chief  feeling  upon  alighting  from  the  car  out- 
side the  palatial  mansion  in  the  famous  square,  was 
one  of  suppressed  excitement.  He  rather  hoped  some- 
thing dramatic  or  startling  would  happen.  The  recital 
of  it  would  give  him  an  early  opportunity  of  meeting 
Ann  Trentham  again. 

A  footman  in  a  neat  livery  opened  the  door  and,  with 
the  stoop-shouldered,  gigantic  Snell  by  his  side,  he 
passed  into  the  house. 

Snell  seemed  familiar  with  his  surroundings.  He  led 
the  way  into  a  brilliantly-lit  room,  handsomely  fur- 
nished in  exquisite  taste. 

"Sir  Luke  will  be  here  shortly,  Mr.  Chertsey.  I  am 
desolated  to  leave  you,  but  I  have  to  go.  But  first  you 
will  do  me  the  honour,  I  trust,  of  joining  me  in  a  glass 
of  wine?  It  is  our  host's  express  wish,"  he  added. 

"I  shall  be  very  pleased." 

Chertsey  spoke  without  reflection.  He  was  not  think- 
ing about  this  man;  his  mind  was  concerned  with  the 
master  or  employer  he  served. 

A  footman  brought  two  glasses  of  sherry  on  a  silver 
salver. 

"To  our  better  acquaintance,  Mr.  Chertsey,"  toasted 
Barrington  Snell. 

Chertsey  raised  his  glass,  drained  its  contents,  swayed 
unsteadily — and  then  crashed  to  the  floor. 


92  THE  BLACK  HEART 

He  returned  to  consciousness  slowly.  Darkness — a 
gloom  deep  and  impenetrable — surrounded  him  as  he 
opened  his  eyes. 

Not  only  was  he  unable  to  see,  but  he  could  not 
move.  His  hands  were  bound  and  his  body  was  in  a 
vice.  He  was  naked  to  the  waist. 

"Gilbert  Chertsey!"  From  out  of  the  blackness,  a 
voice  called  his  name.  He  thought  it  belonged  to  Sir 
Luke  Benisty. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  He  tried — and  almost  succeeded — 
in  keeping  his  furious  rage  out  of  this  single  word  of 
answer. 

His  eyes  were  becoming  more  accustomed  to  the 
gloom  now,  and  as  he  looked  about  him,  he  noticed  two 
facts  which  caused  a  wave  of  apprehension  to  pass 
down  his  spine  and  threatened  to  unman  him. 

The  first  circumstance  was  that  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  ring  of  hooded  figures.  These  recalled  instantly 
to  his  mind  the  horrific  stories  he  had  read  as  a  boy 
of  the  Spanish  Inquisition  familiars.  Through  the  slits 
in  the  hoods,  the  eyes  of  the  watchers  gleamed 
maliciously.  .  .  . 

That  sinister  ring  of  spectators  was  disturbing 
enough,  but  the  second  fact  was  far  more  unnerving. 

Bound  hand  and  foot,  he  had  been  placed  in  some 
sort  of  long,  tight-fitting  box — a  coffin.  .  .  . 

"Gilbert  Chertsey,  you  are  now  upon  your  trial," 
announced  the  voice  which  had  spoken  before. 

Simultaneous  with  the  word  "trial,"  a  bright  light 


INITIATION  93 

erupted,  to  shine  full  upon  Chertsey's  face.  His  eyes 
were  dazzled. 

"Are  you  willing  to  undergo  the  test  necessary  before 
you  can  be  admitted  to  the  Fellowship  of  The  Black 
Heart?"  continued  the  voice. 

"I  am."  To  whatever  this  amazing  procedure  might 
lead,  he  had  to  go  on  with  it.  Argument  was  futile, 
helpless  as  he  was.  And  if  these  pantomimic  gentlemen 
thought  they  could  make  him  squeal,  they  were  due  to 
be  mistaken. 

Something  else  showed  up  out  of  the  darkness  now; 
it  was  a  phosphorescent  human  skull.  This  illumined 
death's  head  had  a  set,  mirthless,  mocking  grin. 

"Are  you  willing,  Gilbert  Chertsey,  to  take  the  oath 
required  of  each  and  every  candidate  for  the  Fellow- 
ship of  The  Black  Heart?" 

A  rustling  sound  accompanied  the  question,  and 
Chertsey  realised  with  a  fresh  start  of  astonishment 
that  one  of  the  hooded  figures  had  left  the  circle  of 
watchers  and  was  now  bending  over  him.  In  his  right 
hand  the  man  held  a  long-bladed  poniard. 

"Gilbert  Chertsey,  you  are  now  very  near  to  death !" 
the  voice  announced.  "Should  your  courage  fail  you  in 
this,  the  moment  of  your  trial,  the  dagger  which  you 
see  will  be  plunged  instantly  into  your  heart — for  you 
will  be  deemed  unworthy  to  become  one  of  us." 

Chertsey  could  distinctly  hear  the  furious  beating  of 
his  heart.  This  might  be  mummery,  but  it  was  so  real 
as  to  be  positively  terrifying.  It  might  be,  of  course, 
that  Sir  Luke  Benisty,  actuated  by  some  mental  per- 


94  THE  BLACK  HEART 

version,  had  decided  that  this  should  be  the  way  in 
which  he  was  to  die. 

The  thought  caused  him  to  make  a  slight  move- 
ment. Instantly  he  felt  a  prick  over  his  heart;  the 
poniard  had  pierced  his  skin. 

"I  have  already  warned  you!"  The  voice  was  now 
terrible. 

"Let  me  take  the  oath !"  he  answered. 

The  suspense  was  bathing  him  in  perspiration.  He 
gritted  his  teeth,  calling  upon  a  fresh  reserve  of  mental 
strength. 

"Very  well.  You  will  repeat  slowly  after  me  the  fol- 
lowing words :  I,  Gilbert  Chertsey,  do  hereby  solemnly 
declare  and  promise  that  if  I  am  elected  to  the  Fellow- 
ship of  The  Black  Heart,  I  will  keep  secret  and  hold 
inviolate  to  my  dying  day  all  information  of  any  de- 
scription whatever  which  is  vouchsafed  to  me.  Fur- 
thermore, I  promise  strict  and  unquestioning  obedience 
to  the  Chief  of  the  Order,  Sir  Luke  Benisty." 

What  else  was  there  for  him  to  do  but  to  repeat  the 
words?  If  he  refused,  or  even  faltered,  undoubtedly 
he  would  be  killed.  And  then  Ann  Trentham  would  be 
left  alone.  .  .  .  Time  enough  for  him  to  debate  the 
matter  with  his  conscience  when  he  was  a  free  man 
again.  Thus  he  rapidly  reflected. 

"Gilbert  Chertsey,  you  have  taken  your  solemn  oath. 
By  that  sign  of  death,"  an  arm  pointed  to  the  phos- 
phorescent skull,  "I  warn  you  that  the  least  sign  of 
treachery  will  be  met  by  your  instant  annihilation.  You 
have  already  been  witness  to  the  fate  of  a  man  who 


INITIATION  95 

played  us  the  traitor.  Your  predecessor  in  the  flat  at 
712,  Guildford  Street  was  a  member  of  The  Black 
Heart.  He  developed  treacherous  tendencies,  however, 
and  we  had  to  remove  him.  Let  his  miserable  end  be 
always  a  warning  to  you ! 

"And  now,"  the  voice  continued,  "in  order  that 
you  may  never  forget  your  obligations  to  us,  and  so 
that  wherever  you  may  be,  we  shall  know  you  for  a 
member  you  are  forthwith  to  be  branded  with  the 
symbol  of  the  Fellowship." 

His  eyes  swimming,  Chertsey  noticed  there  was  a 
glowing  brazier  by  the  side  of  the  speaker.  He  watched 
a  hooded  figure  lift  a  red-hot  rod  from  the  flaming 
heart  of  charcoal,  saw  this  man  draw  near,  felt  a  sear- 
ing pain  in  his  left  shoulder — and  then  quietly  swooned. 

The  man's  face  stared  at  him  but  of  the  morning 
newspaper.  Chertsey  allowed  his  coffee  to  grow  cold 
whilst  reading  the  startling  announcement  that  accom- 
panied the  photograph. 

"A  sensational  discovery  was  made  early  last 
evening  by  a  farm  labourer,  named  George  Walsh, 
who  lives  near  Dymchurch,  Kent. 

"Whilst  walking  from  his  work  over  the  Romney 
Marshes,  he  stumbled  in  the  darkness  against  a  man's 
corpse. 

"This  was  afterwards  identified  as  being  the  body 
of  Mr.  C.  R.  J.  Simpson,  a  junior  official  in  the 
British  Foreign  Office. 


0  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"It  was  subsequently  ascertained,  as  the  result 
of  enquiries,  that  Mr.  Simpson  had  been  in  bad 
health  of  late,  and  had  been  granted  a  month's  leave 
in  consequence. 

"From  the  fact  that  an  empty  phial  of  poison  was 
discovered  clutched  in  his  right  hand,  it  is  surmised 
that  this  brilliant  young  Foreign  Office  official  took 
his  own  life.  Mr.  Simpson  had  lately  been  under 
treatment  for  neurasthenia  by  a  Harley  Street 
specialist. 

"An  inquest  will  be  held." 

Chertsey  had  barely  finished  reading  when  the  tele- 
phone bell  rang. 

"You  understand  you  are  to  know  nothing  concern- 
ing the  unfortunate  gentleman  whose  sad  fate  is  chron- 
icled in  the  morning's  newspapers,"  said  a  hard,  cold 
voice,  which  he  instantly  recognised.  Before  he  could 
reply,  he  heard  Sir  Luke  Benisty  ring  off. 

As  he  walked  back  to  the  breakfast  table,  Chertsey 
felt  that  slight  wound  in  his  left  shoulder  throb  again. 
The  previous  night,  after  returning  from  Berkeley 
Square,  he  looked  in  the  glass  to  see  an  inflamed  circular 
patch  of  skin.  He  had  been  really  branded. 

It  did  not  require  the  slight  stab  of  pain  to  make  him 
register  yet  another  vow :  somehow  or  other,  he  would 
reverse  the  tables  on  this  master  mummer — and  he 
would  do  so  whilst  respecting  so  far  as  was  possible 
the  oath  he  had  been  forced  to  take. 


INITIATION  97 

In  the  meantime,  breakfast  had  lost  its  savour: 
Sir  Luke  Benisty  had  been  proved  a  person  of  his  word. 

The  photograph  printed  in  the  Morning  Mail  was 
that  of  the  man  he  had  found  dead  not  forty-eight  hours 
before  in  the  adjoining  room. 


Chapter  XI 
AT  THE  CAFE  OF  THE  ROSY  DAWN 

EE  most  other  capitals,  London  has  a  special 
interest  in  the  unusual.  When  some  newspaper 
gossip  printed  the  story  that  Paul  Lorenzo,  the 
"gay  guitarist"  from  America,  who  was  to  appear 
nightly  at  the  Cafe  of  the  Rosy  Dawn,  was  really  a  rich 
man  in  search  of  novel  experiences,  that  section  of  mid- 
night carousers  who  set  the  fashion  for  Mayfair, 
flocked  to  the  well-known  night  club  off  Piccadilly 
Circus. 

Sylvester  Lade,  the  man  who  had  made  a  fortune 
by  supplying  the  unusual,  smiled  his  characteristic  wel- 
come to  them  all.  Immaculately  dressed,  charmingly 
mannered,  those  evil  eyes  discreetly  hooded,  he  made 
the  announcement  that  the  gossip-writer's  paragraph 
was  substantially  correct. 

"No,  dear  people,  I  must  absolutely  refuse  to  tell  you 
his  real  name!"  he  replied,  suavely,  to  all  inquiries; 
"you  must  be  satisfied  with  Paul  Lorenzo — surely  that's 
attractive  enough?" 

This  second  night  of  the  much-discussed  entertainer's 
appearance  saw  the  principal  salon  crowded.  Every- 

98 


AT  THE  CAFfi  OF  THE  ROSY  DAWN       99 

one  in  the  fashionable  set  wished  to  see  Paul  Lorenzo — 
the  man,  it  was  stated,  who  had  more  money  than  he 
knew  what  to  do  with,  and  yet  who  amused  himself  by 
playing  a  guitar  in  a  cabaret. 

Paul  Lorenzo  proved  to  be  a  debonair,  good-looking 
man  of  thirty.  Quite  apart  from  the  very  interesting 
stories  that  were  being  bandied  about,  his  smile  in- 
stantly won  all  hearts. 

That,  in  spite  of  his  supposed  wealth,  he  was  a 
talented  performer  on  his  particular  instrument,  was 
soon  demonstrated :  to  his  own  accompaniment  he  also 
sang  several  songs  in  a  pleasing  baritone  voice.  The 
"turn"  was  an  instantaneous  success. 

Among  the  visitors  to  the  Cafe  of  the  Rosy  Dawn 
that  night  was  a  girl  whose  striking  beauty  attracted 
many  eyes.  Men  came  to  her  table,  flattering  homage 
on  their  lips — but  to  one  and  all  Ann  Trentham  ex- 
pressed regret,  but  she  was  not  dancing. 

She  was  not  in  the  mood  for  any  form  of  merriment. 
Her  thoughts  were  sufficient  company,  and  they  were 
grave.  That  afternoon  she  had  rung  up  the  flat  at  712, 
Guild  ford  Street,  but  after  a  long  wait,  Exchange  had 
given  her  the  ominous  message:  "No  reply." 

Had  she  done  right  in  sending  that  man  headlong 
into  such  a  maelstrom?  Young,  successful — she  had 
verified  this  fact  from  a  leading  bookseller — with  much 
in  life  to  hold  him,  he  had  gone  at  her  instigation  to 
what  might  well  prove  his  death. 

She  knew   these  men;   who   else  could  know   Sir 


ioo  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Luke  Benisty  as  well  as  she?  Was  it  not  Benisty  who 
had  caused  her  father  to  lie  in  a  suicide's  grave? 

Hugh  Trentham,  D.S.O.,  had  been  a  trusted  King's 
Messenger  in  the  years  following  the  war.  He  gloried 
in  the  work,  and  honoured  the  trust  which  was  placed 
in  him.  He  was  respected  and  admired  by  his  superiors. 

Then — how  laboriously  she  had  had  to  work  to  get 
the  details — her  small  world  had  been  shattered  by  a 
terrific  scandal.  Her  father,  sent  on  a  secret  mission  to 
the  Continent,  with  documents  of  the  highest  import- 
ance, had  been  found  shot  in  a  questionable  gaming- 
house at  Buda-Pesth.  A  revolver  with  one  chamber  dis- 
charged was  lying  by  his  side.  Not  only  the  State 
documents,  but  the  large  sum  of  money  in  English 
banknotes  he  had  carried  for  his  country — were  gone. 

The  affair  was  hushed  up,  of  course ;  practically  every 
friend  of  her  father's  had  said  that  some  insoluble 
mystery  was  at  the  back  of  the  disaster — but  the  sordid, 
unclean,  unmistakable  facts  remained :  a  man  who  was 
believed  to  be  the  soul  of  honour,  had  failed,  on  the 
strongest  circumstantial  evidence,  in  his  trust. 

Like  most  girls  of  her  class,  Ann  had  not  previously 
given  a  great  deal  of  thought  to  religion,  but  a  month 
after  the  tragedy,  Destiny  apparently  appointed  her  to 
a  task.  An  aged  aunt  of  her  father's  died  in  Baltimore 
— and  her  fortune  of  400,000  dollars  was  left  in  its 
entirety  to  the  girl  who  was  prostrated  with  grief. 

Instantly,  Ann,  who  had  aged  many  years  during 
these  four  weeks,  saw  herself  selected  as  an  instrument 
of  Fate.  She  would  devote  this  money  which  had  so 


AT  THE  CAFE  OF  THE  ROSY  DAWN     101 

unexpectedly  come  to  her,  to  one  end — the  tracking 
down  of  the  man  who  had  been  the  means  of  her  father 
taking  his  life. 

This  task,  which  would  have  appalled  by  its  im- 
mensity the  ordinary  girl,  presented  itself  to  her  merely 
in  the  light  of  a  long  and  difficult  inquiry  which  might 
tax  her  patience  to  the  uttermost.  Beyond  that  she  would 
not  see:  she  allied  her  relentless  purpose  to  the  con- 
fidence of  youth.  At  twenty- four,  moreover,  she  had 
the  worldly  knowledge  and  experience  of  many  women 
of  thirty.  Left  motherless  when  quite  a  child,  her 
father  had  made  a  pal  of  her ;  it  was  his  pet  joke  to  call 
her  "Sonny."  ...  In  that  scene  of  glare  and  glitter, 
the  memory  caused  her  to  stare  across  the  room  with 
fixed,  unseeing  eyes. 

Telling  no  one,  using  her  native  wits  unceasingly, 
spending  money  lavishly,  in  order  to  gain  the  slightest 
clue,  mixing  with  the  queerest  people,  often  at  the 
gravest  risk,  undertaking  long  journeys,  always  alone, 
she  had  slowly  and  laboriously  formed  a  theory.  She 
knew  almost  to  a  certainty  her  father's  enemy,  but  this 
knowledge  was  valueless  without  actual  proof. 

It  was  in  pursuing  this  proof  that  she  chanced  upon 
the  gigantic  conspiracy  against  the  peace  of  Europe, 
which  this  same  man — the  arch-fiend,  Sir  Luke  Benisty 
— was  organising. 

"You  are  alone,  Miss  Trentham  ?" 

She  looked  up  to  find  the  odious  eyes  of  Sylvester 
Lade  fixed  malevolently  upon  her.  In  the  search  for  the 
facts  she  required,  she  had  become  a  frequent  visitor  to 


102  THE  BLACK  HEART 

many  night  clubs,  for  amongst  the  knowledge  she  had 
gained  was  that  this  controller  of  cabarets  was  a  close 
associate  of  Sir  Luke  Benisty. 

"I  do  not  care  for  ladies  to  come  to  my  establishments 
unaccompanied,  Miss  Trentham,"  continued  the  sneer- 
ing voice. 

The  words  alone  were  an  insult,  and  the  girl  flushed 
vividly. 

"Consequently,  I  am  afraid  I  must  ask  you  to  leave." 

Ann  stood  up.  She  was  conscious  that  everyone 
around  her  was  staring.  It  was  a  public  humiliation  of 
the  worst  description. 

"You  are  an  abominable  cad!"  was  the  reply  she 
made. 

Sylvester  Lade,  his  face  venomous,  caught  the  girl 
by  the  shoulder. 

Nap  Miles  found  the  scene  very  amusing,  very 
stimulating  and — after  a  while — very  interesting. 

That  girl,  sitting  alone  in  the  corner — surely  he  had 
seen  her  before? 

Then,  quickly,  he  remembered :  it  was  the  girl  whose 
remarkable  beauty  he  had  commented  upon  when 
lunching  two  days  before  in  Rimini's  restaurant  with 
Bill  Summers.  What  was  she  doing  here?  Had  she 
fallen  captive  to  his  manly  beauty  and  wonderful 
personal  charm  as  demonstrated  in  his  newspaper 
photographs  and  the  descriptive  matter  that  had  been 
written  by  the  gossip  paragraphists  ? 

The  smile  faded  from  his  face :  the  girl  had  risen  as 


AT  THE  CAFfi  OF  THE  ROSY  DAWN     103 

though  she  had  been  insulted.  That  quite  remarkable 
swine,  Sylvester  Lade,  was  evidently  bullying  her. 

A  few  seconds  later,  Miles  was  across  the  room. 
Before  he  could  reach  the  spot,  however,  he  saw  Lade 
do  an  unpardonable  thing,  gripping  the  girl's  white 
shoulder  with  what  seemed  brutal  force. 

Instantly  the  offending  arm  was  knocked  up. 

"I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake,"  Miles  said, 
coldly;  "this  lady  is  a  friend  of  mine.  She  came  here 
at  my  invitation  to-night.  I  am  profoundly  sorry  you 
should  have  been  upset,  Miss  Trentham,"  addressing 
the  girl. 

He  saw  a  look  of  gratitude  flash  into  her  face.  Ann 
Trentham  smiled. 

"There  has  been  a  mistake,  as  you  can  see,  Mr. 
Miles,"  she  replied ;  "your  performance  was  delightful, 
I  enjoyed  it  tremendously — but  I  must  go  now." 

He  stepped  between  her  and  the  crowd  of  staring 
spectators. 

"I  will  see  you  home,  Miss  Trentham,  if  I  may." 

Someone  caught  his  arm.  It  was  the  furious  Lade. 

"You  can't  leave  the  club,"  he  stormed;  "you  are 
due  to  play  again  in  ten  minutes." 

"I'm  not  playing  here  again  to-night,"  said  the  "gay 
guitarist,"  very  distinctly,  "so  you  had  better  make 
some  other  arrangements.  I  do  not  stand  for  my  friends 
to  be  insulted."  He  offered  the  girl  his  arm  and  led 
her  away. 

"I  know  you  must  be  wondering  all  sorts  of  things, 
and  so  I  will  give  you  the  explanation  now,  Miss 


104  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Trentham,"  remarked  her  escort,  as  he  handed  her  into 
the  taxi-cab  a  minute  later. 

"I  saw  you  at  Rimini's  restaurant  in  the  Strand  the 
other  day.  I  was  lunching  there  with  a  friend  of  mine 
— Bill — I  mean  the  Hon.  William  Summers,  of  the 
British  Foreign  Office — I'm  an  American  myself. 

"I — it  was  very  rude  of  me — but  I  transgressed  to 
the  extent  of  asking  Bill  who  you  were.  He  told  me 
your  name.  When  I  saw  that  rotter  worrying  you  to- 
night, I  felt  that  I  knew  you  indirectly — and  I  had  to 
take  a  hand  in  the  business." 

Ann  Trentham  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  am  very  much  indebted  to  you,  Mr.  Miles.  The 
man  Lade  insulted  me.  I  was  quite  alone — and  I  wanted 
a  friend  badly  just  then." 

"You  needn't  worry  about  being  friendless  as  long 
as  I'm  about,  Miss  Trentham,"  he  told  her  with  Ameri- 
can directness.  "Here's  my  card — if  ever  I  can  be  of 
service  to  you,  kindly  give  me  a  ring.  I  shall  be  in 
London  for  a  while  yet — unless,"  he  added  reflectively, 
"something  unexpected  crops  up." 

As  he  turned  away,  Napoleon  Miles  felt  there  was 
more  than  one  reason  why  he  should  like  to  see  this 
girl  again. 

He  did  not  return  to  the  Cafe  of  the  Rosy  Dawn. 
Sylvester  Lade  had  to  be  taught  a  lesson,  he  decided; 
and,  in  any  case,  he  was  bored.  What  was  more,  he  had 
far  more  important  things  to  think  about — a  coded 
cablegram  received  that  afternoon  from  Washington 
was  one  of  them.  Even  to  Napoleon  Miles's  volatile  and 


AT  THE  CAFE  OF  THE. ROSY  DAWN     105 

somewhat  eccentric  temperament,  playing  the  guitar 
to  a  set  of  wine-flushed,  midnight  revellers,  seemed  an 
incongruous  proceeding  whilst  that  cablegram  was  wait- 
ing for  his  further  consideration  in  the  locked  drawer 
at  his  flat. 

In  the  Cafe  of  the  Rosy  Dawn,  the  incident  which 
had  caused  so  much  attention  at  the  time  was  forgotten. 
Dancing  continued;  the  flow  of  wine  increased  as  the 
hours  sped;  laughter  became  a  trifle  more  strident, 
speech  rather  more  blurred — but  that  was  all :  everyone 
was  happy,  or  pretended  to  be,  and  those  who  could 
never  achieve  real  happiness  again  almost  suc&eded  i& 
forgetting. 

Mingling  with  his  patrons,  Sylvester  Lade  looked  as 
tmuffled  as  ever.  He  smiled,  nodded,  flattered. 

Yet  a  girl  paying  her  first  visit  to  the  Night  Club, 
and  seeing  him  for  the  first  time,  whispered  to  her 
escort:  "That  man  makes  me  shudder!" 

The  speaker  was  something  of  a  psychologist. 

Black  Hell  ruled  in  Sylvester  Lade's  heart  that  night. 


Chapter  XII 
THE   LOCKED   BOOK 

THAT  trans-Atlantic  greyhound,   the  Moren- 
garia,   was   twenty- four   hours   distant    from 
Southampton,  when  the  passenger,   who  had 
registered  as  Mr.  James  Forbes,  and  who  in  the  few 
conversations  he  had  held  with  his  fellow  travellers  on 
the  way  from  New  York  had  let  it  fall  that  he  was 
going  to  England  to  buy  woollen  goods,  received  a 
wireless  message. 

Anyone  looking  over  the  shoulder  of  Mr.  James 
Forbes  at  the  moment  the  latter  was  reading  his  mes- 
sage, might  have  smiled : 

Cissie  Sends  Her  Best  Love.    Papa  Happy. 

To  such  a  person  it  would  have  seemed  a  wicked 
waste  of  money  to  flash  those  seemingly  fatuous 
words  through  the  ether.  But  such  an  onlooker  could 
not  have  read  in  the  message  what  caused  Mr.  James 
Forbes  to  bite  his  lower  lip,  whilst  the  rest  of  his  face 
was  expressionless. 

Five  minutes  later — that  is,  after  he  had  allowed 
sufficient  time  to  stultify  the  curiosity  of  any  possible 

106 


THE  LOCKED  BOOK  107 

prying  person — the  self-confessed  buyer  of  woollen 
goods  walked  slowly  to  his  cabin. 

Once  inside,  and  having  carefully  locked  the  door 
behind  him,  his  manner  changed  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  might  have  become  within  the  space  of  a  single 
minute  an  entirely  different  person  from  the  stolid, 
somewhat  gauche  passenger  which  the  general  com- 
munity on  the  Morengaria  had  considered  him  to  be. 

With  every  sign  of  eagerness,  he  seated  himself  in  a 
chair  facing  the  bed,  and  drew  from  his  breast  pocket 
a  small  book.  It  was  a  curious  volume,  for  Mr.  Forbes's 
manner  of  opening  it  was  to  insert  a  tiny  key  hanging 
from  his  watch-chain,  in  the  equally  tiny  lock  that  held 
the  two  stiff  covers  together. 

The  buyer  of  woollen  goods  commenced  to  turn  the 
pages  of  his  little  book  very  rapidly.  In  the  meantime, 
the  wireless  message  was  laid  out  on  the  bed.  Mr. 
Forbes's  procedure  was  to  look  at  one  word  of  the 
message,  and  then  proceed — or  so  it  seemed — to  see 
what  his  little  book  had  to  say  about  this  particular 
word. 

In  twenty  minutes,  he  achieved  a  surprising  solu- 
tion. As  the  result  of  the  information  received  from  the 
locked  book  he  wrote  several  words  beneath  those  of 
the  original  message.  These,  in  their  entirety,  ran: 

Plans  changed.  Instead  of  London,  proceed  direct 
to  Paris,  stay  Hotel  Charles  VII.    LOGAN. 

"Well,  I'm  damned !"  said  Mr.  Forbes.  His  astonish- 
ment did  not  lead  him  to  be  less  cautious  than  before, 


io8  THE  BLACK  HEART 

however,  for,  striking  a  match,  he  burned  the  paper  on 
which  he  had  decoded  the  words,  and  even  then  scat^ 
tered  the  ash  through  his  fingers.  That  done,  he  re- 
locked  his  book  of  mystery  and  placed  it  in  his  breast 
pocket. 

The  captain  of  an  ocean-going  liner  of  the  class  of 
the  Morengaria  is  a  somewhat  difficult  personage  to  be 
approached  by  an  ordinary  passenger,  unless  the  latter's 
business  is  both  important  and  urgent.  Mr.  James 
Forbes's  business  must  have  come  under  both  categories, 
for  within  ten  minutes  of  leaving  his  cabin,  he  was  alone 
with  the  Captain  in  a  private  room — and  his  host's 
manner  was  attentive. 

"I  have  just  had  a  wireless  from  the  President,  Mor- 
rison; I  am  to  go  to  Paris  instead  of  proceeding  to 
London.  What  do  you  suggest?" 

Arthur  Morrison,  Captain  of  the  Morengaria,  was 
quick  in  his  reply.  "Nothing  can  be  done  until  we  reach 
Southampton,  Mr.  Rinehart.  We  are  due  in  port  in 
twenty- four  hours — say  three  o'clock  to-morrow  after- 
noon. There  is  a  boat  leaves  Southampton  at  1 1 .45  the 
same  night,  arriving  at  Havre  at  seven  o'clock  the  next 
morning.  What  I  suggest  is,  that  you  leave  the  arrange- 
ments to  me.  You  can  stay  in  my  own  quarters  when 
we  reach  Southampton,  until  it  is  time  for  you  to  catch 
the  Havre  boat.  You  need  not  worry  about  your 
trunks." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  wireless  for  a  prome- 
nade deck  cabin,"  suggested  the  man  who  had  two 
names. 


THE  LOCKED   BOOK  109 

"Certainly.  I  will  have  that  attended  to  immediately." 

"I'm  awfully  obliged  to  you,  Captain."  The  face 
which  was  remarkable  for  its  immobility  slipped  into 
a  companionable  smile:  Mr.  James  Forbes  alias  Mr. 
Washburn  Rinehart,  could  be  human  when  he  tried,  it 
seemed. 

The  Captain  accepted  the  proffered  hand  almost 
deferentially. 

"I  am  merely  doing  my  duty,  sir,"  he  replied;  "so 
long  as  you  are  aboard  my  ship,  I  hold  myself  re- 
sponsible not  only  for  your  safety,  but  for  your  per- 
sonal comfort." 

Once  out  of  the  Captain's  room,  the  man  addressed 
became  the  matter-of-fact  prospective  buyer  of  York- 
shire products.  The  world  bounded  by  the  steel  walls  of 
the  Morengaria  would  have  marvelled  had  it  known  the 
truth :  being  that,  physically  disguised,  just  sufficiently 
to  deceive  the  average  person,  the  name  of  Mr.  James 
Forbes  concealed  the  identity  of  the  man  who,  next 
to  the  President  himself,  wielded  most  power  in  that 
most  powerful  nation,  the  United  States  of  America. 

At  rare  intervals,  Washburn  Rinehart  smiled  at  the 
fact  that  each  morning  a  trusted  valet — who,  ostensibly 
had  no  relation  with  him — arrived  at  the  cabin  to 
change  the  contour  of  his  face.  Dwight  had  the  trick  of 
make-up.  It  savoured  of  melodrama,  this  business — but 
it  had  been  necessary — God  knew  how  necessary!  His 
present  mission  was  the  most  fateful  one  of  all  his 
career — and  every  possible  precaution  was  essential. 

Back  in  America  the  papers  had  been  told  that  Wash- 


no  THE  BLACK  HEART 

burn  Rinehart,  "the  Power  behind  the  Capitol,"  was 
holidaying  in  the  Far  East.  Some  of  the  Opposition 
papers  had  unleashed  a  gentle  gibe  at  the  expense  of  the 
Statesman  in  the  White  House,  inferring  that  now  the 
President  would  be  able  to  govern  without  gaining 
the  consent  of  his  "sleeping-partner,"  or  before  signing 
his  name  to  any  measure. 

Washburn  Rinehart  was  the  human  enigma  of 
America.  One  could  understand  one  of  the  world's 
richest  men  desiring  power,  but  it  was  difficult  to  appre- 
ciate why  such  an  individual  as  Rinehart,  possessing 
both  in  almost  terrifying  quantities,  should  keep  him- 
self resolutely  in  the  background.  Ever  since  he  had 
made  his  influence  felt  in  national  affairs,  he  had  re- 
fused to  take  any  office  whatever — but  it  was  common 
knowledge  that  the  President  made  no  move  unless  first 
he  "talked  it  over  with  Washburn." 

It  was  what  the  Purser — a  sour-looking  man  with  a 
ludicrously  red  nose — styled  a  pig  of  a  night.  The 
Havre  boat  slithered  and  rolled  in  the  contemptuous 
grip  of  an  angry  Channel.  The  dark  decks  were  de- 
serted; and  as  Rinehart  had  no  wish  to  show  himself 
in  the  smoking-lounge  that  was  a  blaze  of  electric  light, 
he  kept  to  his  cabin.  Always  a  bad  sailor,  he  decided 
to  get  straight  into  bed. 

He  thought  longingly  of  the  comfort  of  the  Savoy 
Hotel  in  London,  where  Dwight  was  already  estab- 
lished by  this  time  awaiting  his  return.  What  had 
caused  Logan,  his  life-long  friend  and  the  President 


THE  LOCKED  BOOK  in 

of  the  United  States,  to  send  that  message  at  what 
was  practically  the  last  moment,  he  could  not  tell.  Of 
course  there  was  a  very  sound  reason,  but — what? 

He  must  wait  for  the  answer  to  that  until  he  reached 
Paris,  where  he  was  due  to  arrive  at  11.56  the  next 
morning. 

One  thing  was  certain :  he  would  not  be  in  Paris  very 
long;  the  Business  was  to  be  done  in  London:  that 
had  all  been  definitely  arranged. 

As  soon  as  possible,  he  was  going  to  pay  his  young 
nephew,  Gilbert  Chertsey,  a  visit.  Ever  since  he  had 
first  seen  this  son  of  his  only  sister — now,  like  her 
husband,  dead — he  had  taken  a  great  interest  in  the 
young  man's  work.  Like  many  other  enormously  busy 
men  of  affairs,  Rinehart  dearly  loved  a  shocker — and 
he  had  not  only  read  every  book  that  his  nephew  had 
written,  but  he  had  thoroughly  appreciated  them. 

Gilbert  did  not  know  of  his  arrival  in  Europe;  he 
would  take  the  young  rascal  by  surprise. 

This  grave  man  of  affairs  chuckled.  The  last  time  he 
had  heard  from  his  nephew,  Chertsey  had  complained 
that  he  had  run  dry  of  ideas,  and  that  he  was  afraid 
he  would  never  be  able  to  write  another  book. 

"I  shall  have  to  give  him  a  bit  of  a  line  on  this  present 
business — only  all  his  readers  will  swear  that  the  plot  is 
too  fantastic  to  be  believed,"  he  told  himself. 

Making  sure  once  again  that  his  cabin  door  was 
secure,  and  that  the  small  book  beneath  his  pillow  was 
safe,  the  man  from  America  sank  gently  off  to  sleep. 

He  awoke  drowsily,  to  the  sound  of  a  winch  rattling, 


ii2  THE  BLACK  HEART 

and  realised  that  he  was  at  Havre.  With  the  whining 
of  tackle  from  the  quay  side,  the  stertorous  snoring  of 
funnels  and  the  excited  cries  of  the  French  porters, 
came  a  knock  on  the  door.  It  was  the  steward  with  his 
morning  coffee. 

The  weather  was  brilliantly  fine,  and  Washburn 
Rinehart  ate  his  breakfast  with  a  hearty  appetite:  the 
murk  of  England  had  been  replaced  by  the  sunny  smile 
of  France. 

As  he  lit  a  cigar,  Rinehart  decided  that  Fate  had  not 
dealt  with  him  so  badly  after  all.  It  was  five  years 
since  he  had  been  in  Paris,  and,  if  his  luck  held  good, 
he  was  due  to  arrive  with  the  sun  shining.  Light- 
hearted,  pagan  Paris  with  the  sun  shining.  .  .  . 

In  that  moment  Washburn  Rinehart  did  not  feel  his 
age.  What  man  would  have  done  ? 


Chapter  XIII 
MOVES  IN  THE  DARK 

SYLVESTER  LADE,  apart  from  running  his 
Night  Clubs,  had  a  hand  in  many  enterprises. 
Nothing  came  amiss  to  this  shady  character; 
dope-addicts  could  have  their  craving  supplied  by  him — 
at  a  price;  foolish  Society  girls,  thirsting  for  hectic 
excitement,  could  have  their  wishes  satisfied — also  at 
a  price.  Amongst  Lade's  heavy  correspondence   fre- 
quently were  letters  from  men  in  South  American  ports, 
who  referred  in  their  communications  to  "goods  re- 
ceived, and  quite  satisfactory." 

The  night — or  rather  the  morning  after  the  incident 
at  the  Cafe  of  the  Rosy  Dawn,  Sylvester  Lade's 
thoughts  turned  towards  two  of  these  correspondents 
in  particular.  If  it  could  be  managed — and  he  saw  no 
reason  why  it  should  not — he  would  be  effectually  rid  of 
a  girl  who  had  become  a  nuisance. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  Sylvester  Lade  possessed  a 
conscience,  but  he  wished  London  rid  of  Ann  Trent- 
ham.  There  were  two  reasons  why  he  desired  this,  but 
the  chief  was  that,  wherever  he  turned,  he  found  the 
girl  present, — and  evidently  keeping  her  eye  upon 
him. 

113 


ii4  THE  BLACK  HEART 

The  bare  fact  of  being  watched  meant  nothing  very 
much  in  his  life.  For  years  he  had  been  one  of  the 
most  observed  men  in  London.  It  amused  him  to  know 
that  Scotland  Yard  kept  a  perpetual  surveillance  over 
him :  there  was  nothing  in  being  watched,  provided  you 
covered  your  tracks  sufficiently  well. 

But  there  was  a  great  difference  in  being  watched  by 
clumsily-disguised  detectives  and  by  a  girl  whose  eyes 
were  a  constant  reminder  of  something  he  would  like 
to  forget. 

It  was  difficult  to  understand  why  Benisty  had  not 
moved  in  this  matter  himself.  The  possibility  of  Ann 
Trentham  discovering  anything  was  negligible,  of 
course,  but  so  long  as  she  was  in  London,  she  con- 
stituted not  only  an  annoyance,  but  a  certain  risk :  she 
might  make  the  acquaintance  of  men  who,  attracted  by 
her  beauty  and  inflexibility  of  purpose,  would  take  up 
her  case. 

That  she  suspected  him  was  obvious;  and  if  his  con- 
nection with  her  father's  business  was  once  discovered, 
it  might  be  extremely  awkward.  For  that  went  beyond 
ordinary  crime ;  it  was  a  State  affair. 

The  girl  would  have  to  be  got  rid  of:  he  had  told 
himself  so  many  times  before,  and  last  night's  affair 
increased  his  determination.  After  what  had  happened, 
he  wasn't  quite  certain  of  that  guitar  player.  The  yarn 
the  fellow  had  pitched  about  being  a  friend  of  Ann 
Trentham's  might  have  been  an  invention  concocted  at 
the  moment,  but  it  was  highly  probable  that  if  they 
were  not  acquainted  before,  the  girl  would  now  make 


MOVES  IN  THE  DARK  115 

a  friend  of  the  man.  A  friend,  and  perhaps  a  con- 
fidant. 

And  then  there  was  the  other  man  Chertsey.  How 
xn  the  devil  had  she  got  to  know  him? 

Benisty  could  be  relied  upon  to  control  Chertsey,  no 
<loubt — after  that  spoof  ceremony  of  initiation  into 
The  Black  Heart,  the  man  would  be  afraid  of  his  own 
shadow.  But  the  girl  represented  a  distinct  risk.  He 
could  not  afford  to  have  her  prying  about  any  longer. 
Once  over  the  water,  and  in  charge  of  either  Manuel, 
the  Yid,  or  Vezinolos,  the  Greek,  her  mouth  would  be 
effectively  shut.  And  that  proud  face  and  beautiful 
figure  .  .  .  Sylvester  Lade's  unuttered  thoughts 
showed  in  his  stealthy  smile. 

Late  as  it  was,  he  made  a  telephone  call,  and  within 
twenty  minutes  a  visitor  arrived. 

This  man  was  a  wasp-waisted,  dark-skinned  mongrel 
of  various  breeds.  There  are  far  too  many  vermin  of 
this  kind  in  London  to-day.  They  are  parasites  batten- 
ing on  the  vices  and  follies  of  mankind.  Of  such  a  type 
was  this  creature  of  Sylvester  Lade. 

The  two  held  a  brief  but  animated  conversation,  dur- 
ing which  the  mongrel's  dark  eyes  glistened  more  than 
once. 

"It  shall  be  attended  to,  Meester  Lade,"  the  man 
said,  and  the  conference  broke  up. 

Chertsey  was  puzzled.  What  was  the  man's  object 
in  asking  him  this  question?  In  any  case,  he  had 
to  be  careful. 


n6  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  know  nothing  whatever  about  the  lady/'  he  re- 
plied; "she  is  practically  a  complete  stranger  to  me." 

Sylvester  Lade  smiled. 

"So  much  the  better  for  you,"  he  said:  "as  Sir 
Luke  Benisty  told  you  last  night,  The  Black  Heart 
has  an  effective  way  of  dealing  with  traitors — and  I 
have  already  warned  you  against  this  girl  Trentham." 
He  walked  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open.  "You  are  to 
await  your  instructions,  which  will  be  sent  to  you  soon," 
were  his  final  words. 

For  the  space  of  three  minutes  after  the  obnoxious 
caller  had  gone,  leaving  the  air  reeking  of  perfume, 
Chertsey  roved  about  the  room  in  the  Bloomsbury  flat. 
How  he  had  been  able  to  keep  his  hands  off  the  man 
he  did  not  know. 

What  did  Lade's  veiled  threats  mean?  Like  Benisty, 
he  worked  in  the  dark,  a  force  hostile  to  everything  that 
was  clean,  decent  and  orderly.  He  cloaked  himself  in  a 
secrecy  which  could  not  be  penetrated.  Yet  he  must 
have  meant  some  harm  to  Ann  Trentham.  Was  he 
contemplating  an  outrage  against  the  girl  ?  The  thought 
made  Chertsey  rush  to  the  telephone.  He  must  give  her 
a  warning. 

The  waiting  whilst  he  was  connected  made  him  fran- 
tic, but  the  announcement  of  the  Exchange — "I'm 
sorry,  but  there's  no  reply,"  steadied  his  nerve.  He  must 
control  himself;  this  was  a  time  for  calm  deliberation 
rather  than  precipitation. 

And  yet  .  .  .  Perhaps  Sylvester  Lade  had  already 
put  his  abominable  plan  into  operation.  Whatever  the 


MOVES  IN  THE  DARK  117 

consequences  to  himself  might  be,  he  must  see  Ann  and 
warn  her.  Perhaps  he  had  been  a  fool  to  trust  to  the 
telephone;  how  could  he  tell  that  the  line  was  not 
tapped  ? 

It  was  impossible  to  rest.  But  sufficient  sense  of 
caution  remained  for  him  to  use  the  back  entrance 
as  he  had  done  before,  instead  of  leaving  by  the  front 
door. 

Picking  up  a  taxi  in  Russell  Square,  he  drove  to  the 
corner  of  the  quiet  West-end  street  in  which  Ann  Trent- 
ham  had  her  flat.  The  night  was  starless,  a  fact  for 
which  he  was  grateful.  Still,  he  cut  out  all  unnecessary 
risks,  walking  rapidly  down  the  street  like  a  man  who 
had  urgent  business  occupying  his  mind. 

As  he  reached  the  entrance  to  the  house,  he  was 
stopped  from  going  in  by  a  movement  made  by  a  man 
on  the  opposite  pavement.  This  man  had  halted  to  light 
a  cigarette — the  action  might  be  innocent  enough,  or 
on  the  other  hand,  he  might  be  a  hireling  of  Lade's. 
Without  another  glance,  Chertsey  walked  on. 

Arrived  at  a  corner  a  hundred  yards  farther  down 
the  street,  he  looked  back  at  the  possible  spy.  The 
man  was  still  there,  in  a  lounging  attitude,  as  though 
waiting  for  someone.  If  the  fellow  was  really  watch- 
ing the  flat,  he  would  have  to  dispose  of  him  in  some 
way  before  entering  the  house. 

It  was  whilst  he  was  occupied  with  this  thought  that 
Chertsey 's  attention  was  attracted  by  a  motor- van  turn- 
ing the  corner  into  Morris  Street.  Watching  the  direc- 


u8  THE  BLACK  HEART 

tion  the  vehicle  took  he  was  surprised  to  notice  that  it 
drew  up,  so  far  as  he  could  tell,  outside  the  house 
in  which  Ann  Trentham  had  her  flat.  Another  cir- 
cumstance he  noticed  was  that  the  man  lounging 
opposite,  crossed  the  road,  engaged  in  a  short  conver- 
sation with  the  driver,  and  then  walked  away,  being 
quickly  lost  in  the  darkness. 

Now  was  his  chance!  He  strode  rapidly  back  down 
the  street.  He  had  not  gone  more  than  fifty  yards  when 
he  saw  two  men  emerge  from  Number  28.  They  were 
carrying  a  large  old  oak  dower-chest.  They  placed  this 
carefully  in  the  van,  and  jumped  into  the  vehicle,  which 
then  moved  rapidly  off. 

Chertsey  ran  up  the  stairs  to  the  first  floor.  He  rang 
the  bell  outside  the  door  on  which  was  a  small  brass 
plate  bearing  the  name  Trentham,  before  discovering 
that  the  door  was  already  open. 

Suddenly  panic  seized  him.  He  rushed  inside,  to  find 
the  small  but  beautifully-appointed  flat  deserted.  A 
sickly  scent  hung  heavy  on  the  air. 

In  the  bedroom,  resting  on  the  bed  as  though  they 
had  been  just  taken  off,  were  a  hat,  coat,  and  a  pair  of 
gloves.  With  a  stab  of  pain  he  remembered  the  hat :  it 
was  the  one  Ann  Trentham  had  worn  the  afternoon 
they  drove  through  Hyde  Park. 

That  chest.  .  .  . 

He  was  back  in  the  hall  by  this  time,  looking  at  a 
vacant  space  to  the  left  of  the  door.  On  the  polished 
wood  was  a  thin  coating  of  dust ;  the  chest  he  had  seen 
placed  in  the  motor-van  must  have  been  resting  there 


MOVES  IN  THE  DARK  119 

only  a  few  minutes  before.  The  imprints  of  a  man's 
boots  in  the  dust  were  proof  of  this. 

He  raced  down  the  stairs  like  a  madman.  Two 
minutes  later  he  was  talking  almost  incoherently  to 
the  taxi-driver  he  had  told  to  wait  at  the  corner  of  the 
street. 

"Did  you  see  a  motor-van  pass  just  now  ?" 

The  driver,  throwing  away  the  fag  end  of  a  gasper, 
stated  that  he  had. 

"Catch  it  up — follow  it  wherever  it  goes — double 
fare !"  cried  Chertsey,  springing  into  the  cab. 

The  man  he  addressed  was  not  nonplussed — who  has 
ever  known  a  London  taxi-driver  nonplussed?  Joshua 
Twinnell  calmly  resumed  his  seat,  nonchalantly  ex- 
claimed: "Right  y'are,  guv'nor,"  pushed  in  his  clutch, 
and  was  off  on  his  quest. 

How  he  contrived  it,  and  what  sixth  sense  he  em- 
ployed, are  known  only  to  Joshua  Twinnell,  but  at 
the  end  of  ten  minutes — which  time  Chertsey  had 
employed  by  poking  his  head  in  and  out  of  the  window 
like  a  jack-in-the-box,  he  leaned  backwards  and  side- 
ways and  cried  with  hoarse  triumph :  "There  she  is  in 
front,  guv'nor,  and  if  I  lose  her  now,  you  can  'it 
me  over  the  'ead  with  me  own  spanner !" 

Declining  this  invitation,  but  having  complete  con- 
fidence in  Joshua  Twinnell,  Chertsey  settled  back  to 
wait  with  as  much  patience  as  he  could  muster. 

Thirty  minutes  by  his  watch  sent  him  almost  frantic 
again.  It  was  one  thing  to  be  on  the  track  of  these 


120  THE  BLACK  HEART 

men;  it  was  another  thing  to  follow  them  throughout 
the  night. 

Follow  them  be  damned !  He  wasn't  going  to  do  any 
more  following:  with  or  without  the  aid  of  his  driver, 
he  was  going  to  stop  the  motor-van  and  demand  to  see 
what  that  dower-chest  contained. 

"Guv'nor!" 

It  was  his  driver's  hoarse  voice  calling.  He  pushed 
his  head  out  of  the  window,  saw  darkness  all  around 
him,  and  asked :  "Where  are  we  now  ?" 

"Wandsv/orth — that's  the  Common  over  there." 
Joshua  Twinnell's  right  hand  pointed  to  a  vast  black 
patch.  "The  beauties  in  front  'ave  turned  down  this 
road.  Ah — they've  stopped !  Now  what  abart  it  ?  It's  as 
black  as  a  nigger's  dial !" 

The  temptation  to  try  to  enlist  this  man's  help 
occurred  to  him,  but  Chertsey  was  already  adopting  a 
campaigner's  strategy.  He  must  have  the  driver  await- 
ing his  return;  even  if  he  were  successful  in  bringing 
Ann  away,  he  would  inevitably  be  pursued. 

He  jumped  out  of  the  cab. 

"What's  your  name,  driver?" 

"Joshua  Twinnell,  guv'nor.  May  I  arsk  what  the 
gime  is?" 

"A  game  of  life  and  death  possibly,"  was  the  swift 
retort.  "I'm  going  into  what  may  be  serious  trouble, 
Twinnell;  when  I  come  back,  I  may  have  a  lady  with 
me.  I  want  you  to  turn  your  cab  round,  have  your 
engine  running,  and  once  I'm  inside,  drive  like  the  devil. 
I'll  be  responsible  for  anything  that  happens  to  the 


MOVES  IN  THE  DARK  121 

cab — and  there  will  be  a  ten-pound  note  for  you  on  top 
of  all  the  other  charges." 

Twinnell's  red,  weather-beaten  face  broke  into  a  like- 
able smile. 

"Right  y'are,  guv'nor — and  I'll  'ave  me  little  span- 
ner ready  in  case  it's  wanted." 

Confident  that  he  had  an  ally  on  whom  he  could 
count,  Chertsey  went  swiftly  ahead.  There  was  no 
illumination,  and  the  road — it  seemed  more  a  rough 
track  than  a  road — appeared  to  lead  nowhere.  His 
spirits  sank;  had  Twinnell  been  deceived  or  had  he 
lied?  He  was  still  pondering  the  problem  when,  his 
eyes  grown  by  this  time  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  he 
was  confronted  by  a  dark,  intangible  mass.  It  was  a 
house  standing  some  distance  back  from  the  roadway. 

Proceeding  with  more  caution  now,  he  crept  near 
enough  to  the  drive  that  led  up  to  the  house  to  notice 
with  a  fervent  sense  of  gratitude  that  the  taxi-driver 
had  been  right:  there  was  the  motor- van  outside  the 
front  door. 

Whilst  considering  what  he  should  do  next,  he  caught 
the  sound  of  a  motor  engine  being  hurriedly  shut  off. 
More  of  them !  He  would  have  to  hurry. 

Leaving  the  carriage  way  and  walking  on  the  grass 
that  led  round  to  the  back  of  the  house,  he  stood  for  a 
moment  wondering.  The  place  was  in  complete  dark- 
ness, but  as  he  looked  up,  a  light  suddenly  showed  in 
an  upstairs  room.  He  felt  himself  shaking  as  he  realised 
what  that  light  might  be  disclosing. 

So  far  as  he  could  judge  in  the  darkness,  this  house 


122  THE  BLACK  HEART 

was  of  the  modern  bungalow  type.  Twelve  feet  or  so 
above  him  was  what  looked  like  a  balcony,  with  two 
windows  opening  out  on  to  it.  But  how  to  get  there?  He 
could  not  leap  the  distance,  and  there  was  nothing  up 
which  he  could  climb.  He  darted  to  the  side  of  the 
house — and  there — his  luck  was  in,  after  all! — placed 
to  catch  rain  from  the  roof  was  a  large,  closed-in 
water  butt.  Using  his  hands  as  leverage,  he  vaulted  on 
to  this.  Steadying  himself,  he  judged  that  by  climb- 
ing a  few  feet  up  the  water  pipe,  he  would  be  able  to 
reach  with  his  left  hand  the  top  rung  of  the  verandah. 
He  was  not  used  to  such  acrobatic  feats,  had  never 
excelled  in  them  even  as  a  schoolboy,  and  the  bare 
thought  of  what  he  was  about  to  attempt  caused  him 
to  feel  dizzy. 

It  had  to  be  done,  however,  and  he  wasted  no  more 
time.  Sheer  determination  enabled  him  to  close  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  round  the  verandah  rail.  The 
next  moment  disaster  came,  for  in  his  anxiety  to  get  a 
firm  grip,  he  overbalanced  and  was  launched  into  space. 

He  felt  that  his  left  arm  was  being  dragged  from 
its  socket,  and  it  was  in  the  desperate  endeavour  to 
relieve  this  anguish  that  he  flung  his  right  arm  upwards. 
His  fingers  gripped  something  hard — and  the  next 
minute  he  was  wriggling  his  body  over  the  top  rail.  So 
confused  was  his  state  that  he  did  not  know  what  had 
given  him  the  necessary  leverage.  What  had  happened 
was  that  his  right  foot  had  found  the  water  pipe  again 
and  supplied  a  foothold  to  enable  him  to  make  that 
surprising  spring. 


MOVES  IN  THE  DARK  123 

He  had  gained  his  objective,  but  his  troubles  were  by 
no  means  over,  for,  falling  on  the  other  side  of  the 
verandah  rail,  he  landed  with  such  force  on  the  floor 
of  the  balcony  that  for  a  moment  he  lay  still,  afraid 
that  the  noise  had  attracted  the  attention  of  those  in 
the  house. 

But  there  came  no  sign  that  this  had  happened,  and, 
after  listening  for  a  few  moments,  he  tried  the  nearest 
French  window.  Rust  crumbled  in  his  hand,  and  the 
window  opened.  The  occupants  of  the  house  could  not 
have  been  expecting  intruders,  for  it  was  not  latched 
on  the  inside. 

Stepping  cautiously,  Chertsey  found  himself  in  a 
long,  narrow  room  running  apparently  the  whole  length 
of  the  back  of  the  house,  and  packed  chaotically  with 
furniture.  Twice,  in  the  darkness,  he  bashed  his  shins 
before  he  was  able  to  reach  the  door  on  the  opposite 
side  to  the  window. 

To  the  right,  as  he  now  stood,  stretched  a  carpeted 
staircase.  The  lighted  room,  his  objective,  was  some- 
where above,  and  he  had  to  go  up. 

It  may  have  been  that  the  kidnappers  were  so  pre- 
occupied that  they  did  not  give  a  thought  to  being  dis- 
turbed, but  he  was  able  to  reach  the  door  of  this  lighted 
room — an  attic  on  the  third  floor,  it  was — without  be- 
ing accosted. 

"Oh-h!" 

A  soft  cry  of  agony  sounded  from  within.  It  was 
enough :  turning  the  handle  of  the  door,  he  rushed  into 
the  room. 


124  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Three  men  turned.  The  surprise  depicted  on  their 
faces  was  almost  ludicrous.  Then,  with  a  roar  of  rage, 
the  first  charged  at  the  intruder. 

An  instinct  made  Chertsey  lower  his  head  to  dive 
at  the  man's  legs.  He  secured  his  grip  and  brought  his 
assailant  down  to  the  floor.  Before  he  could  rise,  it 
seemed  that  an  avalanche  had  hit  him.  The  others  had 
come  to  the  attack. 

The  cold,  deadly  fury  which  possessed  Chertsey  gave 
him  an  unrealised  strength.  Now  down,  now  up,  he 
fought  like  one  driven  mad.  Heavy  blows  were  rained 
on  him,  but  he  did  not  feel  their  weight ;  the  primeval, 
battling  spirit  which  is  in  every  civilised  man,  gave 
him  a  fierce,  unbridled  joy  in  wounding  his  foes. 

It  was  an  unequal  contest,  and  could  not  have  been 
expected  to  last.  Chertsey  was  not  a  professional  hero 
of  fiction:  he  was  just  a  plain,  matter-of-fact  man  of 
thirty,  yanked  out  of  his  ordinary,  somewhat  hum- 
drum, certainly  easy-going  mode  of  existence  and 
plunged  without  preparation  or  training  into  a  succes- 
sion of  events  which  would  have  taxed  the  nerve  and 
physical  strength  of  the  most  hardened  adventurer. 

At  length  he  was  down — and  down  for  the  last  time, 
because  his  breath  was  coming  now  in  deep,  sobbing 
gasps,  each  one  of  which  caused  intense  agony.  His 
foes  redoubled  their  blows,  uttering  deep  curses  as  each 
went  home.  What  hellish  bad  luck  was  Chertsey 's  em- 
bittered reflection  as  he  tried  once  again  to  rise,  but 
was  beaten  back  to  the  floor  with  a  blow  that  made  the 


MOVES  IN  THE  DARK  125 

blood  spurt  afresh  from  a  previous  wound  on  his 
lip. 

"Tie  him  up!"  ordered  a  voice  that  held  a  greasy, 
foreign  accent.  "He  came  to  see  the  girl,  no  doubt — 
well,  he  shall!" 

Chertsey's  hands  were  quickly  tied  with  strong  cord 
which  bit  cruelly  into  the  flesh.  Weak  and  exhausted, 
his  imagination  ran  riot.  What  were  these  swine  going 
to  do  with  him  and  the  girl — Ann? 

A  man,  wasp-waisted,  rat- faced,  mongrel-bred, 
looked  down  at  him  as  he  lay  stretched  helpless  upon  the 
floor. 

"You  know  what  you  get  for  interfering?"  said 
the  greasy  man  he  had  heard  speak  before — "you 
get  this!"  The  long  blade  of  a  knife  flashed.  "But  you 
came  to  see  the  girl :  she  will  fetch  a  good  price  where  I 
shall  send  her!"  An  obscene  chuckle  followed  the 
words. 

Chertsey  felt  his  head  would  burst.  It  couldn't  be 
Ann  Trentham  of  whom  this  disgusting  reptile  was 
speaking;  not  Ann  ...  At  the  mercy  of  this  con- 
scienceless white-slaver.  .  .  . 

"Lift  him  up!"  ordered  the  mongrel. 

He  attempted  to  struggle,  but  it  was  pathetically 
useless.  Dragged  forward,  he  found  himself  by  the 
side  of  a  bed.  On  this  was  stretched  a  girl,  bound 
with  ropes.  It  was  Ann  Trentham.  Her  eyes  looked 
into  his,  and — God!  the  courage  of  her! — her  lips 
flickered  into  a  smile.  The  rest  of  her  face  was  proud 
and  aloof.  She  had  sought  to  encourage  him  even  in 


126  THE  BLACK  HEART 

that  extremity,  but  her  attitude  to  her  enemies  was 
coldly  disdainful. 

Chertsey  showed  his  own  sort  of  courage.  He  would 
not  give  these  hounds  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
he  was  afraid  for  the  girl,  so  he  remained  silent. 

The  wasp-waisted  mongrel  pointed  to  the  bed. 

"I  have  an  agent  waiting  to  receive  her  in  Buenos 
Aires,"  he  said.  "I  am  sorry  I  cannot  keep  her  myself — 
but  business  must  come  before  pleasure.  As  for  you," 
he  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigarette  into  Chertsey's 
face,  "you  will  not  be  able  to  do  any  more  interfering, 
my  friend,  because  you  will  be  disposed  of  in  another 
way." 

A  sharp  voice  suddenly  stabbed  the  darkness  from 
behind.  It  had  a  slight  American  accent. 

"I'll  ask  all  of  you  to  put  your  hands  above  your 
heads,"  it  said. 


Chapter  XIV 
THE  NAPOLEONIC  TOUCH 

IN  THE  instant  that  the  voice  of  the  unseen  de- 
liverer was  heard,  Chertsey  looked  again  at  Ann. 
The  girl's  face  glowed;  her  lips  were  parted  ex- 
citedly. She  must  know  this  rescuer !  But  who  was  the 
man? 

The  air  became  foul  with  oaths:  the  three  white- 
slavers  obeyed  the  stern  injunction  to  lift  their  hands 
to  the  ceiling,  but  verbal  filth  oozed  from  their  snarling 
lips. 

"Stand  away  from  that  man!"  was  the  next  order. 
"And  keep  'em  up  to  the  sky!  I'm  suffering  from 
twitching  fingers — a  dangerous  disease  when  carrying 
a  gun — and  it's  liable  to  get  the  better  of  me  at  any 
moment !" 

Chertsey  warmed  to  the  speaker,  whoever  he  was; 
he  liked  his  grim  sense  of  humour.  At  first  a  twinge 
of  jealousy  had  taken  the  flavour  from  the  joy  of  be- 
ing rescued,  but  this  was  now  gone:  relief  at  the 
knowledge  that  Ann  was  safe,  barring  a  fatal  slip  by 
the  stranger,  had  driven  it  away. 

The  man  dominating  the  situation  did  not  strike  him 
as  likely  to  make  a  slip.  When  Chertsey  turned,  after 

127 


128  THE  BLACK  HEART 

his  former  gaolers  had  stepped  away  a  pace  on  either 
side,  he  saw  a  man  of  about  his  own  age,  slim,  well- 
dressed,  holding  a  revolver  in  a  hand  which  was  as 
steady  as  a  limb  of  steel.  The  stranger's  eyes  were 
twinkling,  as  though  in  appreciation  of  the  tableau, 
but  the  rest  of  his  clean-shaven  face  was  stern.  It  was 
a  face  to  inspire  confidence,  and  Chertsey  liked  its 
owner  on  sight. 

"I'll  soon  'ave  those  fins  of  yours  free,  guv'nor," 
promised  a  second  voice. 

"Twinnell!" 

"The  very  sime,  guv'nor — and,  as  promised,  me 
spanner  in  me  'and  in  case  any  of  these  beauties 
start  yappin'." 

How  it  had  all  happened,  Chertsey  did  not  stop  to 
inquire;  directly  his  hands  were  free,  he  rushed  to 
the  bed  and,  with  the  taxi-driver's  knife,  cut  the  girl's 
bonds.  That  accomplished,  he  feasted  his  eyes  upon  her 
face;  and  then,  before  he  realised  what  was  happen- 
ing, he  had  caught  her  up  and  was  holding  her  tightly  in 
his  arms — so  tightly  that  he  felt  he  could  never  allow 
her  to  go  again. 

She  lay  passive  as  though  she  were  content.  He 
did  not  reflect  on  the  miracle  until  afterwards,  when  the 
spell  was  broken.  At  the  time  it  seemed  the  most  natural, 
if  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world  that  she 
should  find  rest  and  succour  in  his  arms. 

A  marvellous  knowledge  dawned  in  Gilbert  Chert- 
sey's  mind  during  those  few  precious  seconds — he  loved 
this  girl!  It  seemed  now  that  for  the  previous  thirty 


THE  NAPOLEONIC  TOUCH  129 

years  of  his  existence  he  had  been  waiting,  all  un- 
suspecting, to  meet  her.  But  once  having  found  her,  he 
would  never  let  her  go. 

"Finished,  Twinnell?" 

The  privacy  of  Chertsey's  Paradise  was  disturbed; 
slowly  he  put  the  girl  away  from  him. 

Ann  Trentham  hung  her  head  for  a  moment.  She, 
too,  might  have  been  snatched  from  a  separate 
existence. 

"Mr.  Miles!  How  can  I  thank  you?"  she  said. 

The  stranger  walked  towards  them. 

"I  was  lucky — just  blamed  lucky!"  he  replied,  in  a 
grave  tone;  "and  I  owe  a  lot  to  this  chap  Twinnell.  If 
he  hadn't  shown  common-sense,  I  should  not  have  got 
here." 

Joshua  Twinnell,  glowing  after  his  labour  of  tying 
up  three  prisoners,  looked  slightly  bewildered  by  the 
praise.  To  cover  his  confusion,  he  breathed  hard  upon 
the  spanner  he  carried,  talisman- fashion,  in  his  right 
hand. 

Ann  laughed.  It  was  a  laugh  in  which  recovering 
confidence  and  relief  from  high  nervous  tension  were 
equally  mingled. 

"I  forgot,"  she  said;  "you  do  not  know  each  other. 
Mr.  Chertsey,  let  me  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Napoleon 
Miles." 

The  two  men  shook  hands. 

"Your  name  is  apt,  Mr.  Miles,  if  I  may  say  so," 
commented  Chertsey;  "you  supplied  the  Napoleonic 
touch  to-night,  at  any  rate !" 


I3o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Miles  shook  his  head. 

"I  was  just  blamed  lucky — that's  all,"  he  replied. 
"Exactly  what  happened  was  this:  I  had  a  feeling 
to-day,  after  thinking  about  last  night,  that  Sylvester 
Lade  meant  some  mischief  to  you,  Miss  Trentham. 
To-night,  before  I  started  my  show,  I  thought  I  would 
run  round  in  the  car  and  give  you  a  hint  of  this.  I 
arrived  outside  your  flat  to  see  a  wildly-excited  gentle- 
man tearing  out  of  the  house.  This  struck  me  as  being 
rather  curious — I  always  suspect  wildly-excited  gentle- 
men who  come  tearing  out  of  houses — and  when  I  got 
upstairs  and  found  your  flat  empty,  with  the  door 
already  open  and  the  smell  of  chloroform  in  the  air,  I 
decided  that  it  was  up  to  me  to  follow  the  man  who  was 
in  such  a  hurry." 

"I  was  the  man,"  supplied  Chertsey. 

The  other  looked  at  him  with  calculating  eyes. 

"It  was  dark  at  the  time.  Of  course,  I  didn't  know 
that  you  were  a  friend  of  Miss  Trentham's,  and  when 
I  saw  a  taxi  move  off  from  the  corner  of  the  street,  I 
naturally  concluded  that  you  must  be  in  it." 

Napoleon  Miles  broke  off  to  smile  reminiscently. 

"I'll  tell  the  world  that  you  wanted  some  trailing," 
he  resumed,  "but  I  stuck  to  the  job  because  I  imagined 
it  would  be  worth  while.  When  I  got  to  the  top  of  this 
road,  I  thought  that  I  had  lost  you,  but  then  stumbled 
across  our  friend  Twinnell  here.  He  was  highly  sus- 
picious at  first,  and  it  was  the  nearest  thing  that  he 
didn't  use  his  spanner  on  me,  but  when  I  explained 
that  I  was  anxious  to  rescue  a  young  lady  in  trouble — 


THE  NAPOLEONIC  TOUCH          131 

I  guessed  that  Sylvester  Lade's  idea  was  kidnapping 
— he  became  a  brother-in-arms  at  once,  told  me  how  he 
had  followed  the  motor-van  from  Morris  Street  and 
offered  to  come  along  to  lend  a  hand.  A  good  guy, 
Twinnell !  The  thing  now  is  what  are  we  going  to  do 
with  these  men?  I  suggest  leaving  them  here  for  the 
police  to  pick  up.  No  doubt  Scotland  Yard  will  have 
all  their  histories  off  by  heart  and  will  be  glad  to  see 
them  again." 

Chertsey  nodded. 

"Before  we  do  that,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  teach 
one  of  them  a  lesson."  He  looked  across  at  the  mongrel, 
whose  dark-skinned  face  was  already  yellow  with  fear. 

Miles's  mind  leapt  to  the  suggestion. 

"I  will  just  take  Miss  Trentham  to  my  car  and  leave 
her  in  the  charge  of  Twinnell,  and  then  I  will  be  back," 
he  said. 

He  handed  over  his  revolver  and  turned  towards  the 
girl. 

Ann  Trentham  made  no  demur.  Perhaps  looking  at 
the  faces  of  her  two  friends  caused  her  to  realise  that 
these  men's  minds  were  irrevocably  made  up.  She  left 
the  room  without  comment  of  any  kind. 

Within  three  minutes,  Napoleon  Miles  was  back  in 
the  attic. 

He  became  brisk  and  business-like. 

"You  want  this  swine  stripped  to  the  waist — that's 
your  idea,  isn't  it?"  he  asked  Chertsey. 

The  novelist  nodded. 

Chertsey  picked  up  a  piece  of  thin  but  strong  rope 


I32  THE  BLACK  HEART 

which  had  been  used  to  bind  Ann  Trentham,  and  tied 
several  knots  in  one  end. 

A  scream  rose  disgustingly.  The  mongrel  had 
summed  up  the  situation  correctly.  His  face  now  was 
greyish-green  with  terror. 

Miles  completed  the  stripping  of  the  wretch;  what 
would  not  come  off  easily  was  torn  ruthlessly. 

"That  clothes-hook  will  do,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a 
brass  fixture  screwed  into  the  centre  top  panel  of  the 
door. 

"It  will  do  admirably  in  the  absence  of  anything 
better,"  replied  Chertsey. 

As  Miles  started  to  drag  him  towards  the  door  the 
mongrel  burst  into  another  high-pitched  screaming  wail. 

"Stop,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  man  who  made  me  do 
it!'*  he  cried. 

The  appeal  was  fruitless.  "We  know  the  man 
already,"  commented  Chertsey;  "it  was  Sylvester  Lade. 
One  day  I  hope  to  do  the  same  to  him  as  I  intend  to  do 
to  you.  White-slavers  are  flogged  by  the  police  with  a 
cat-o'-nine-tails ;  this  rope's  end  will  possibly  not  hurt 
you  nearly  so  much.  Be  thankful,  swine !" 

But  the  man  continued  to  whine.  The  effect  the 
disgusting  sound  had  on  Chertsey  was  to  make  him 
more  determined.  Any  of  his  old  acquaintances  would 
not  have  recognised  him  in  that  moment.  He  looked  a 
different  person.  An  astonishing  change  had  occurred : 
from  the  chronicler  of  other  people's  doings,  he  had 
become  a  man  of  action  himself. 


THE  NAPOLEONIC  TOUCH  133 

"Let  him  have  it !"  said  Napoleon  Miles. 

Chertsey  swung  his  rope  ...  a  shrill  scream  of 
pain  tore  the  air.  ...  It  was  followed  by  several 
others.  .  .  . 

Five  minutes  later,  with  the  door  locked  behind  the 
unconscious  white-slaver  and  his  two  companions,  Miles 
and  Chertsey  went  down  to  the  waiting  car,  over  which 
and  its  occupant  Twinnell  had  kept  a  zealous  watch. 

"Nothin's  'appened,"  announced  the  taxi-driver; 
"everyfmk's  been  as  quiet  as  the  grave." 

"Splendid,  Twinnell!"  Napoleon  Miles  put  his  hand 
into  his  pocket. 

"Look  here,  this  is  my  show,"  protested  Chertsey. 
He  took  out  some  banknotes  and  handed  them  to 
Twinnell. 

"But  I  can't  be  left  out — I  absolutely  refuse!"  re- 
joined Miles.  Another  banknote  joined  the  others  in 
the  grimy  hand. 

"Blimy!  Punch  me  somebody  afore  I  wakes  up!" 
said  Twinnell.  "I  'spose  neither  of  you  gents  would  like 
to  engage  me  reg'lar?" 

Miles  chuckled. 

"You're  the  right  sort,  Twinnell ;  where  can  you  be 
found?" 

"Outside  the  Hotel  Majestic  in  Russell  Square, 
guv'nor.  And  you've  only  got  to  give  me  a  wink  and 
the  ole  cab'll  drive  you  anywheres  you  want  ter  go — • 
and  there'll  be  nothin'  on  the  clock,  see?" 

"I  won't  forget." 


134  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  have  already  tried  to  thank  him,"  said  a  voice 
from  the  car. 

"Gawd  bless  yer  pretty  fice,  lidy,  Josh  Twinnell  don't 
want  no  thanks  from  the  likes  of  you!  If  I'd  only  let 
meself  go,  I  should  have  killed  those  three  blighters !" 
He  buttoned  up  his  great  coat.  "If  you  gents  are  all 
snug  and  comfortable,  I'll  be  getting  back  to  the  ole 
'bus.  Then,  if  you're  returnin'  to  Town,  I'll  just  lead 
the  way." 

The  offer  was  accepted,  and  the  journey  back  was 
made  without  mishap.  It  was  decided  not  to  go  to  the 
flat  in  Morris  Street,  and  the  car  pulled  up  outside 
Napoleon  Miles's  room  in  quiet  Balgravia  Square. 

Ann  Trentham's  first  thought  was  for  her  host. 

"But  your  engagement  to-night,  Mr.  Miles?" 

"I've  finished  with  Sylvester  Lade — as  an  employer, 
I  mean,"  was  the  reply;  "as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  I  become  rather  busy  in  quite  another 
direction  very  soon.  But  look  here,  you  good  people," 
he  quickly  broke  off,  "what  about  a  bite  and  a  sup?  I 
always  have  sandwiches  on  tap,  and  there's  whisky  for 
you,  Chertsey,  and  some  wonderful  old  sherry — 
Heaven's  blessing  on  the  man  who  invented  it ! — called, 
I  understand,  Bristol  Milk.  Two  glasses,  and  you  feel 
like  pushing  a  'bus  over !  I  can  strongly  recommend  it 
— what  do  you  say,  Miss  Trentham?" 

Ann's  answering  smile  disclosed  a  fascinating  dimple. 

"You  make  it  sound  irresistible,  Mr.  Miles — thank 
you,  I  will." 


THE  NAPOLEONIC  TOUCH  135 

"One  moment,  then !"  Napoleon  Miles  smilingly  dis- 
appeared into  an  adjoining  room. 

"Who  is  he?'  whispered  Chertsey,  eagerly. 

Womanlike,  Ann  answered  the  question  by  asking 
one  herself. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"He  seems  a  thundering  good  chap;  but  who  is  he?" 

She  leaned  towards  him.  Then  came  the  sound  of 
returning  footsteps.  "I'll  tell  you  later,"  she  promised. 

Whoever  cut  those  sandwiches  was  an  artist;  they 
tasted  delicious.  Napoleon  proved  himself  an  admirable 
host.  It  was  a  happy  party,  and  for  the  time  being  the 
night's  previous  events  were  forgotten. 

In  the  act  of  laying  down  his  glass,  Chertsey  remem- 
bered something. 

"We  forgot  the  chest,"  he  said. 

"What  chest?"  asked  Miles. 

"The  chest  those  men  used  to  kidnap  Miss  Trent- 
ham,"  supplied  the  novelist. 

Miles's  bewilderment  showed  in  his  face. 

"Mr.  Chertsey  is  quite  right,"  said  Ann :  "after  I  was 
chloroformed  the  men  placed  me  in  a  dower-chest  which 
stood  in  the  hall  of  my  flat.  Of  course,  I  was  taken 
entirely  by  surprise.  I  had  written  Menzies,  the  big 
furniture  firm,  about  upholstering  a  couple  of  chairs. 
When  those  men  called  to-night,  with  their  van,  I 
naturally  assumed  they  had  come  for  the  chairs,  al- 
though it  was  so  late.  I  turned  round  to  take  them  into 
the  sitting-room  when  one  of  them  sprang  on  me  from 
behind.  A  pad  of  chloroform  was  placed  over  my 


136  THE  BLACK  HEART 

mouth,  and,  although  I  struggled  hard  to  get  free,  I 
quickly  lost  consciousness." 

Napoleon  Miles  pointed  to  the  telephone. 

"It's  not  likely  those  beauties  have  got  free — Chertsey 
and  I  tied  them  up  too  securely  for  that — but  I  think 
it's  time  I  rang  up  the  police." 

Ann  touched  his  arm. 

"I  didn't  say  anything  before,  but  I  do  not  want  the 
police  in  this  affair,  Mr.  Miles." 

Miles  softly  whistled. 

"Just  as  you  like,  of  course,  Miss  Trentham.  But 
those  men  will  be  safer  behind  the  walls  of  a  gaol." 

"I  know — and  I  must  take  the  risk  of  them  interfer- 
ing with  me  again.  I  have  a  sufficient  reason.  And  the 
police  would  not  take  any  action  unless  I  prosecuted. 
That  would  mean  my  giving  evidence  and  I  do  not 
desire  to  do  that.  Please  do  not  think  I  am  not  very 
grateful  for  your  help,  Mr.  Miles — I  am — but  the  leader 
of  those  men  was  punished " 

"Oh,  he  was  punished  right  enough !  Friend  Chertsey 
saw  to  that." 

"Then  we  will  let  the  matter  drop.  Those  scoundrels 
should  have  been  taught  a  sufficient  lesson  by  the  time 
they  are  discovered." 

Miles  signified  his  surrender  by  a  nod. 

"I  think  Mr.  Chertsey  will  agree  with  me  that  the 
next  pressing  question  is :  where  are  you  going  to  stay 
now?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Chertsey,  "I  certainly  shall  not  consent 
to  you  returning  to  that  flat  to-night." 


THE  NAPOLEONIC  TOUCH  137 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  doing  so,"  said  Ann ;  "my  maid 
has  gone  to  Essex  to  see  her  mother  who  is  ill,  and  in 
any  case  I  do  not  fancy  sleeping  there,  at  least  not 
to-night.  But  I  must  return  to  lock  things  up."  She 
rose  as  she  spoke,  holding  out  her  hand.  "Thank  you 
once  again,  Mr.  Miles." 

Chertsey  also  rose.  "I  will  see  you  to  your  flat,  and 
afterwards  to  an  hotel,  Miss  Trentham." 

"I'll  get  a  taxi,"  put  in  Miles ;  "will  you  catch  cold 
without  a  hat?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no!" 

"Good-bye,  Chertsey ;  I  hope  to  run  across  you  again 
one  day,"  remarked  Napoleon  Miles,  cordially,  two 
minutes  later,  as  he  shook  hands. 

"You  were  going  to  tell  me  about  Miles,"  said 
Chertsey  as  the  taxi  moved  off. 

"Mr.  Miles  is  a  cabaret  entertainer." 

"What?" 

"Yes.  He  plays  the  guitar  and  sings  at  the  Cafe  of 
the  Rosy  Dawn.  It  was  there  I  met  him  for  the  first 
time  last  night.  Sylvester  Lade,  finding  me  sitting  alone, 
was  very  insulting,  and  was  going  to  have  me  put 
out " 

"The  hound!"  came  from  between  the  listener's 
clenched  teeth. 

"The  position  had  become  very  unpleasant,"  resumed 
Ann,  "when  Mr.  Miles  intervened.  He  was  kind  enough 
to  save  me  from  further  humiliation  and  to  put  me  into 
a  taxi." 

Chertsey  turned  to  look  at  her. 


I38  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"May  I  ask  you  a  question,  Ann?"  he  said. 

The  light  from  an  electric  standard  showed  a  flush 
in  her  cheeks. 

"You  wonder  why  I  go  to  such  places  as  the  Cafe  of 
the  Rosy  Dawn  alone — is  that  what  you  want  to 
know  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Chertsey.  "Ann,"  he  continued,  "when 
I  saw  you  to-night — helpless — I  felt  I  should  go  mad. 
Of  course,  I  have  no  right  to  say  this,  I  know  that — 
but  why  will  you  expose  yourself  to  such  risks?  Have 
I  offended  you?"  as  she  remained  silent. 

"No,"  she  answered;  "you  have  not  offended  me. 
And  after  what  you  did  to-night " 

"What  I  tried  to  do,"  he  corrected,  bitterly;  "a  nice 
mess  I  made  of  things ;  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  fellow 
Miles " 

A  hand  touched  his  arm. 

"You  proved  yourself  a  very  brave  man  to-night,  Mr. 
Chertsey " 

Again  he  broke  in. 

"You  have  allowed  me  to  call  you  'Ann,' ''  he 
pleaded;  "won't  you  fall  into  line,  and  call  me  some- 
thing else  than  'Mr.  Chertsey'  ?" 

Her  eyes  met  his  very  frankly. 

"I  will  call  you  'Gilbert'  if  you  wish  it — and  if  it 
would  give  you  any  pleasure,"  she  replied. 

"Pleasure!  It  would  make  me  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world!  I  should  just  about  turn  dizzy  with  joy! 
Ann" — very  suddenly — "I  suppose  you  know  I  love 
you?" 


139 

He  could  gain  nothing  from  the  silence  with  which 
she  received  the  words,  but  now  that  he  had  started,  he 
was  determined  to  rid  his  mind  of  its  weight. 

"This  is  madness,  I  know,"  he  said,  "but  I've  been 
mad  ever  since  that  first  moment  I  saw  you  in  Paris. 
I  want  to  go  on  being  mad — I  like  the  sensation !  And 
so,  Ann,  I  tell  you  openly  and  frankly  that  I  love  you ! 
No,  for  goodness'  sake  don't  say  a  single  word  in  reply. 
Just  consider  it  part  of  my  madness — but  remember, 
also,  that  you  are  infinitely  dear  to  me,  and  that  when 
I  think  of  you  in  danger,  it  makes  me  frantic.  To-night 
I  half  killed  that  beast  who  kidnapped  you !" 

Again  her  hand  touched  his  arm. 

"I  shall  always  remember  what  you  have  told  me, 
Gilbert.  And  not  only  remember  it,  but  treasure  it." 

The  taxi  stopped  outside  the  house  in  Morris  Street. 

Chertsey  waited  in  the  hall  of  the  flat  whilst  Ann 
collected  a  few  things  and  packed  them  in  a  suitcase. 
He  then  drove  with  her  to  the  quiet  residential  hotel 
she  had  selected  in  the  West  Central  district. 

"You  will  run  no  more  risks?"  he  pleaded  when  he 
left  her. 

"I  cannot  promise  that,"  she  said,  "but  I  will  try  to 
be  more  careful  in  the  future." 

With  that  he  had  to  be  content. 


Chapter  XV 
LADE  MEETS  HIS  MASTER 

SYLVESTER  LADE  chewed  fiercely  on  the  cigar 
he  had  not  yet  lit.  The  expected  telephone  mes- 
sage was  over  two  hours  late.  What  had  hap- 
pened to  Gomez  ?  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  known 
the  man  fail. 

He  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  instrument  and  took 
off  the  receiver. 

"Wandsworth  OI23X,"  he  ordered  sharply. 

As  second  succeeded  second,  Lade's  impatience 
threatened  to  overpower  him.  He  rattled  the  telephone 
repeatedly. 

"I'm  sorry — but  there's  no  reply,"  said  a  man's  voice 
from  the  Exchange. 

"No  reply !"  raved  Sylvester  Lade ;  "don't  be  a  fool ! 
— there  must  be  a  reply!  Try  them  again!" 

"Exchange's"  answer  was  firm  but  unruffled. 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  I  cannot  get  you  a  reply,  sir, 
but  I  will  ring  them  again." 

"Yes — instantly,  please !" 

Two  minutes  later,  the  fuming  Lade  received  another 
confirmation  that  he  could  not  get  connected. 

140 


LADE  MEETS  HIS  MASTER          141 

"Blast  the  fool !"  he  cried,  smashing  the  receiver  back 
on  to  its  hook. 

This  meant  that  he  would  have  to  go  out  to  the  place 
himself — at  that  hour!  Gomez's  instructions  had  been 
implicit  enough;  the  job  should  have  been  easy — then 
what  in  the  hell  could  have  gone  wrong?  Directly 
Gomez  had  the  girl  safely  at  the  Wandsworth  house,  he 
was  to  have  'phoned. 

Brrrh!  The  'phone! 

"Hullo !"  he  called,  snatching  off  the  receiver. 

"Who  is  that  speaking?"  came  the  prompt  reply. 
The  voice  was  authoritative.  Moreover,  it  was  distinctly 
British.  It  was  not  the  voice  of  Gomez,  the  mongrel. 

Lade  rapidly  considered. 

"Who  are  you  ? — and  where  are  you  speaking  from  ?" 
he  asked. 

"A  house  called  'The  Bungalow'  in  Ferndale  road, 
Wandsworth  Common.  I  am  Police-Inspector  Turner 
of  the  Wandsworth  Police.  I  have  been  called  to  this 
house  on  account  of  a  remarkable  occurrence.  I  must 
have  your  name  and  address,  please — if  you  are  the 
person  who  has  been  recently  ringing  up  this  house." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  Inspector. 
I  was  trying  to  get  through  to  a  friend  of  mine  in 
Clapham — and  the  fools  at  the  Exchange  must  have 
switched  me  through  to  the  wrong  number.  Sorry  to 
have  bothered  you,  Inspector ;  good-night !" 

He  rang  off  immediately.  Gomez  must  have  blundered 
things.  Something  had  gone  wrong — and  the  evidence 
was  on  view  at  "The  Bungalow."  But  who  could  have 


i42  THE  BLACK  HEART 

brought  the  police  into  the  business?  And  had  they 
discovered  the  girl?  If  so,  she  might  give  his  name. 

He  started  as  the  'phone  signal  whirred  again. 
Curiosity  drove  him  to  the  instrument  after  caution  had 
warned  him  not  to  answer. 

"Yes?" 

"I  want  to  see  you  instantly,  Lade,"  said  a  voice  that 
had  a  steely  edge  to  it ;  "instantly,  understand !  Come  to 
Berkeley  Square  at  once !" 

"Yes,  Chief."  Sylvester  Lade's  tone  was  quiet,  re- 
spectful, bordering  on  the  submissive.  For  the  speaker 
was  Sir  Luke  Benisty,  the  one  man  in  the  world  of 
whom  he  was  afraid. 

When,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  he  stood  facing 
Benisty,  he  found  the  man  to  whom  he  gave  allegiance 
shaking  with  rage. 

"You  have  meddled,  Lade!"  he  said,  in  a  chilling 
tone;  "who  gave  you  authority  to  molest  the  girl,  Ann 
Trentham?" 

Sylvester  Lade  put  up  his  defence. 

"She  was  dangerous — I  have  said  so  many  times, 
Chief.  And  she  was  always  watching  me.  I  thought  it 
was  best  she  should  be  put  out  of  the  way — I  have 
arranged  for  her  to  be  sent  to  South  America." 

"You  thought — you  arranged!"  came  the  scornful 
answer;  "what  right  have  you  to  take  on  yourself  such 
a  prerogative?  Surely  you  should  have  remembered  that 
it  is  /  who  do  the  thinking,  and  the  arranging — and  that 
you  merely  carry  out  my  orders !" 

The  other  was  shaken  by  that  cultured  but  terrible 


LADE  MEETS  HIS  MASTER          143 

voice,  yet  he  showed  courage  of  a  sort,  standing  his 
ground. 

"I  repeat,  very  respectfully,  Chief,  that  the  time  had 
come  to  put  the  Trentham  girl  out  of  the  way.  What  I 
did,  I  did  as  much  for  your  sake  as  for  my  own.  Now 
that  we're  talking  about  this,  I  should  like  to  say  that 
I  cannot  understand  why  you  have  not  moved  in  the 
matter  yourself.  The  girl  is  dangerous;  she  has  already 
nobbled  that  fellow  Chertsey." 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  did  not  relent. 

"Do  you  acknowledge  that  you  should  have  consulted 
me  in  this  matter  ?" 

"Yes,  Chief,  I  do." 

"Very  well,  then  you  are  committed  by  your  own 
words!  Please  understand  once  and  for  all  time  that 
henceforth  I  will  not  allow  this  sort  of  thing.  I  go 
further,  and  absolutely  forbid  it.  Do  you  know  what 
has  happened  to-night  ?" 

Sylvester  Lade  thought  it  politic  to  feign  ignorance. 

"No,"  he  answered. 

"A  Portuguese  half-breed  named  Gomez  was  dis- 
covered by  the  police  to-night  at  his  house  near  Wands- 
worth  Common,  in  an  insensible  condition.  Someone 
had  stripped  him  to  the  waist,  and  flogged  him  merci- 
lessly with  a  knotted  rope.  This,  stained  with  blood, 
was  discovered  near  by.  Two  other  men,  evidently 
companions  of  Gomez,  were  in  the  same  room.  Both 
were  bound  hand  and  foot." 

Sylvester  Lade's  composure  was  shattered. 

"Who  did  it?"  he  demanded.  "My  instructions  to 


144  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Gomez  were  to  take  the  girl  to  his  house,  get  what 
information  he  could  out  of  her,  and  then  arrange  for 
her  to  be  shipped  to  Buenos  Aires." 

The  fine,  aristocratic  face  of  Sir  Luke  Benisty  be- 
came livid. 

"You  dog!  You  were  going  to  sell  her  into  white 
slavery,  then?" 

"Why  not  ?"  snapped  the  other ;  "apart  from  murder, 
it  was  the  most  effectual  way  to  deal  with  her." 

Benisty  controlled  himself  with  an  obvious  effort, 
and  put  out  a  hand  as  though  to  push  the  other  away. 

"If  you  had  succeeded,  Lade,  I  would  have  killed  you 
with  my  own  hands !"  he  said ;  "understand  that  what- 
ever action  is  to  be  taken  with  regard  to  the  Trenthara 
girl,  it  will  be  taken  only  by  me !" 

The  threat  subdued  Sylvester  Lade's  growing  sense 
of  indignation. 

"If  that  is  your  order,  Chief,  all  right,"  he  forced 
himself  to  reply.  "What  happened  to  the  girl?" 

"Apparently  she  escaped — my  information  does  not 
include  where  she  is  at  present." 

"May  I  ask  how  you  got  this  information,  Chief?" 

A  bleak  smile  showed  on  the  cultured  face. 

"You  are  not  the  only  person,  Lade,  who  has  friends 
in  the  police.  No  doubt  you  are  also  curious  as  to  the 
means  by  which  this  business  at  Wandsworth  was  dis- 
covered? It  appears  that  your  man  Gomez  has  been 
under  observation  for  some  time.  No  doubt  his  white- 
slave  activities  have  attracted  attention.  To-night  a 
policeman  visited  his  house  with  a  search-warrant.  Not 


LADE  MEETS  HIS  MASTER          145 

receiving  any  answer,  but  noticing  a  light  burning  in 
an  upstairs  room,  he  forced  a  window  and  broke  in. 
Any  other  question?" 

Lade  intimated  he  had  nothing  further  to  say.  It  was 
a  bad  night's  work,  and  he  wished  to  forget  everything 
connected  with  it — especially  the  thought  that  the  police 
had  by  this  time  probably  acquired  the  knowledge  that 
it  was  he  who  had  put  through  two  imperative  telephone 
calls  to  the  house  at  Wandsworth. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  was  suave  and  cordial. 

"The  time  has  come  for  me  to  give  you  your  first 
instructions,  Mr.  Chertsey,"  he  said.  "The  commission 
which  I  want  you  to  execute  is  not  only  a  very  simple 
one,  but  should  bring  with  it  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 
Briefly,  all  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  proceed  to  Paris  by 
the  first  available  train — there  is  one  from  Victoria  at 
eleven  o'clock  this  morning — and  go  to  the  Hotel 
Charles  VII,  where  your  room  is  already  booked." 

"And  what  do  I  do  there?"  inquired  the  new  member 
of  The  Black  Heart. 

"The  simplest  thing,"  rejoined  Benisty,  with  another 
agreeable  smile;  "staying  at  the  hotel  at  the  present 
time  is  a  man  named  Forbes — James  Forbes.  That  is 
not  his  right  name,  but  it  is  the  name  he  has  signed  in 
the  hotel  register.  What  I  wish  you  to  do  is  not  to  let 
Mr.  Forbes  out  of  your  sight.  In  other  words,  I  wish 
you  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance  and  make  a  friend  of 
him." 

"Can  you  describe  this  man  to  me,  Sir  Luke?" 


I46  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot  give  you  a  very  reliable  descrip- 
tion, beyond  the  fact  that  he  has  rather  a  commanding 
figure  and  is  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age.  But 
once  you  are  in  the  hotel,  it  should  be  quite  easy  for  you 
to  locate  him. 

"A  word  of  warning,  Mr.  Chertsey !  You  must  on  no 
account  lead  him  to  think  that  we  of  the  Society  of  The 
Black  Heart  have  any  interest  in  him ;  to  do  so  would  be 
disastrous."  The  speaker  paused  to  study  the  younger 
man's  face.  "Forbes  is  an  international  malefactor  of 
the  worst  description.  He  has  set  the  law  at  defiance 
and,  consequently,  The  Black  Heart  has  determined  to 
punish  him  for  his  various  misdeeds.  I  will  be  frank 
with  you,  Chertsey;  you  are  to  act  as  a  decoy  in  con- 
nection with  this  man — but  you  need  have  no  con- 
science-qualms on  that  account:  the  sooner  'James 
Forbes'  is  removed  from  the  sphere  of  his  present 
activities,  the  better  it  will  be  for  humanity!  Remem- 
bering that,  I  do  not  want  you  to  fail  in  this  first 
commission,  Chertsey.  Further  instructions  will  be  sent 
to  you  at  the  Hotel  Charles  VII." 

A  shrewd,  calculating  scrutiny,  a  handshake — and 
Chertsey  was  left  to  his  reflections.  Evidently  Sir  Luke 
Benisty  was  no  sluggard ;  it  was  still  only  nine  o'clock. 

Keenly  as  he  would  have  liked  to  see  Ann  before  he 
left,  Chertsey  decided  that  it  would  be  too  risky  for 
him  to  attempt  to  do  so.  Sir  Luke  Benisty's  manner  had 
iold  him  that  something  big  was  in  the  wind ;  some  great 
coup,  perhaps,  was  being  planned  by  The  Black  Heart. 
The  part  the  man  Forbes  was  to  play  in  the  scheme  he 


LADE  MEETS  HIS  MASTER          147 

did  not  know,  of  course,  but  he  was  prepared  to  bet  on 
one  point :  that  was  that  'James  Forbes'  had  a  somewhat 
different  character  from  the  one  given  him  by  Sir  Luke 
Benisty. 

What  he  personally  should  do  when  he  met  the  man 
was  a  decision  that  must  be  left  to  the  future,  but  every 
instinct  now  warned  him  to  be  on  his  guard.  What  Sir 
Luke  Benisty  had  just  told  him  was  doubtless  a  care- 
fully-concocted pack  of  lies,  concealing  perhaps  the 
giant  conspiracy  at  which  Ann  Trentham  had  hinted. 

It  maddened  him  to  think  that  he  could  not  see  her 
before  he  left,  but  at  least  he  could  write.  His  fountain 
pen  flew  over  the  paper — 

"Ann, 

"Directly  you  have  read  this,  burn  it.  I  have  just 
been  given  my  first  job.  What  it  is  I  had  better  not 
tell  you  because  I  think  that  the  knowledge  might  be 
dangerous.  It  sounds  simple — but  I  am  sure  it's  not. 

"I  want  you  to  keep  out  of  things;  you  know  what 
I  mean.  Promise  me  that!  Soon  I  shall  be  in  this 
business  up  to  my  neck,  I  am  thinking,  and  what  is 
to  be  found  out  please  leave  to  me.  I  may  muff  it — 
but  you  mustn't  run  any  more  risk. 

"1  will  write  again  when  I  have  something  to  say." 

G.  C." 

The  letter  posted  at  Victoria  Station,  Chertsey  took 
his  seat  on  the  Continental  train  with  a  light  heart.  The 
prospects  of  the  forthcoming  adventure, — for  that  an 


148  THE  BLACK  HEART 

adventure  awaited  him  in  Paris  he  was  convinced — 
was  thrilling.  Moreover,  he  felt  that  whatever  danger 
he  might  be  going  into  was  being  undertaken  for  the 
sake  of  the  girl  he  loved.  He  had  taken  the  matter  out  of 
Ann  Trentham's  hands  now  and  had  shouldered  the 
responsibility  himself.  The  thought  was  very  satisfying. 

Until  he  arrived  at  the  Gare  du  Nord,  he  resolved  to 
give  his  mind  a  holiday.  So  it  was  an  apparently  care- 
free young  man  who  boarded  the  boat  at  Dover  and 
stepped  into  the  Paris  Express  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Channel.  The  tip  he  gave  the  red- faced  giant  of  a  Calais 
porter  was  of  such  a  handsome  character  that  the  man 
wished  him  a  thousand  bons  voyages  in  one  wonderful 
burst  of  volubility. 

Bon  voyage!  Was  it  to  be  a  good  journey?  He  won- 
dered. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  night,  looking  well  in  his 
evening  kit,  Gilbert  Chertsey  strolled  towards  the  hand- 
some dining-room  of  the  Hotel  Charles  VII,  which, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  is  situated  just  off  the  Grand 
Boulevard. 

As  he  turned  in  through  the  swing-doors,  a  man  of 
fifty-five  caught  his  arm. 

"Gilbert !  By  all  that's  wonderful !" 

Chertsey  turned  round  to  see  his  American  uncle — 
the  man  who  had  registered  as  James  Forbes. 


Chapter  XVI 
SHOCKS! 

THERE  was  no  question  of  his  uncle's  delight, 
and  Chertsey's  own  feeling  was  one  of  happy 
surprise.  Although  he  knew  little  of  Washburn 
Rinehart,  he  had  liked  the  man  immediately,  and  the 
hospitality  he  had  received  from  him  in  America  was  a 
pleasant  memory. 

"Hello,  sir!"  he  replied;  "this  is  splendid!  What 
lucky  chance  brought  you  to  Paris?  And  why  didn't 
you  let  me  know  you  were  coming  to  Europe  ?" 

The  other  affectionately  pressed  his  arm. 

"I  wanted  to  keep  it  as  a  surprise,"  he  smiled;  "but 
you've  turned  the  trick  on  me :  I  meant  to  look  you  up 
in  London — and  here  you  are  in  Paris !  How's  the  new 
novel  getting  on?  Got  that  plot  yet?"  Rinehart  smiled 
as  though  at  a  secret  thought. 

Chertsey  was  some  time  before  he  replied.  This  uncle, 
whom  he  had  discovered  somewhat  late  in  life,  was 
deeply  experienced  in  men  and  affairs.  Without  giving 
any  names,  should  he  tell  him  the  truth  about  his  present 
visit  to  Paris  ?  The  advice  of  such  a  man,  and  one  who 
was  nearly  double  his  age,  would  probably  be  valuable. 

149 


ISO  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Nevertheless,  a  second  later  he  decided  against  the 
suggestion;  he  did  not  wish  to  appear  a  fool  to  Rinehart, 
whose  keen  sense  of  humour  would  probably  cause  the 
other  to  chaff  him  mercilessly.  Whilst  he  had  stayed 
with  him  in  America,  his  uncle  had  on  several  occasions 
stated  his  dislike  for  any  "frills";  his  guiding  principle 
through  life  had  been  the  use  of  plain  "horse-sense,"  he 
often  said.  Could  such  a  man  possibly  be  expected  to 
believe  in  a  story  so  fantastic  and  bizarre  that  even  the 
narrator,  now  that  he  looked  back  upon  the  events  of 
the  past  few  days,  could  scarcely  credit  them  himself? 

"What's  the  matter,  boy?  You  look  worried,"  broke 
in  Rinehart. 

Chertsey  shrugged  his  shoulders,  before  seizing  on 
the  opening  which  had  presented  itself. 

"It's  only  that  wretched  new  book,"  he  prevari- 
cated ;  "every  plot  for  a  thriller  has  already  been  used — 
unless  one  writes  something  which  is  too  impossible  to 
be  believed." 

Washburn  Rinehart  chuckled  again. 

"Let's  have  some  dinner,"  he  said.  "I  never  eat  so 
well  as  when  I'm  in  Paris.  There  must  be  a  tonic  quality 
in  the  air.  After  dinner,  we'll  have  a  talk.  It  might 
happen  that  I  can  start  you  off  on  an  idea.  You  may 
think  it  far-fetched — but  I  can  vouch  for  its  truth.  Life 
is  sometimes  stranger  than  even  the  New  York  Sunday 
newspapers,  Gilbert,  my  boy !" 

They  had  reached  the  much-coveted  corner  table  by 
this  time,  and  Jules,  the  world-famous  maitre  d'hotel, 
was  smilingly  awaiting  their  command.  Washburn 


SHOCKS!  151 

Rinehart  immediately  joined  him  in  conference,  order- 
ing with  a  surety  that  won  Jules's  frequent  approbation. 

"An  admirable  choice,  monsieur,"  he  finally  com- 
mented. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  they  are  showing  you  proper  re- 
spect, sir,"  remarked  Chertsey.  The  remembrance  had 
come  to  him  swiftly  that  this  uncle  of  his  was  a  very 
important  man  in  his  native  land.  Rinehart  had  not 
talked  much  about  politics  when  he  was  in  America, 
but  the  novelist  remembered  significant  remarks  that 
had  been  made  to  him  by  other  people  and  recalled 
snatches  of  conversation  and  newspaper  paragraphs 
that  he  had  read  in  the  American  press  at  the  time. 

His  uncle  was  now  busy  with  the  wine  waiter,  a  man 
whose  almost  abysmal  gloom  of  countenance  was  light- 
ened as  he  received  the  American's  instructions. 

"Bien,  m'sieur!" 

"I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  my  boy,"  said  Rine- 
hart, "but  I  have  ordered  what  should  be  quite  a  good 
dinner,  and  I  want  you  to  do  justice  to  it.  So,  with  your 
permission,  conversation  will  languish.  Afterwards  I 
promise  you,  I  will  tell  you  something  worth  listening 
to." 

Chertsey,  laughing,  fell  in  readily  with  the  mood.  His 
uncle,  he  remembered,  was  something  of  a  gourmet. 

"Well,  here's  to  so-called  dry  America,  sir,"  he  said, 
lifting  his  glass  of  Pol  Roger;  "you  haven't  anything 
better  than  this  in  your  cellar,  I  know." 

Rinehart,  his  mouth  appreciatively  full  of  filet 
mignon,  playfully  frowned. 


152  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I'm  not  supposed  to  have  a  cellar,  but  neverthe- 
less, there's  some  1914  Pol  Roger  in  it  quite  as  good 
as  this — but,  lordy,  don't  ask  me  what  I  had  to  pay 
for  it!" 

It  was  a  meal  worthy  of  the  attention  which  was  now 
bestowed  upon  it.  The  cooking  was  in  accordance  with 
the  famous  hotel's  cuisine,  the  service  was  admirable, 
and,  final  attribute,  there  was  no  music ! 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  after  they  had  sat  down, 
Washburn  Rinehart  produced  from  his  case  two  superb 
Corona  cigars. 

"We'll  have  coffee  in  the  smoking-room,  Gilbert," 
he  announced. 

It  seemed  to  the  novelist  that  their  departure  was 
noted  by  many  pairs  of  curious  eyes. 

He  commented  upon  this  fact  once  they  were  com- 
fortably settled  in  two  leather  easy  chairs  at  the  far  end 
of  the  big  smoking-room. 

"That's  your  writer's  imagination,"  said  Rinehart; 
"at  least,  I  hope  it  is.  Not  a  soul  in  this  hotel  is  sup- 
posed to  know  who  I  really  am."  Then,  before  his 
nephew  could  voice  any  surprise  at  the  statement,  the 
American  continued :  "I  am  in  Europe  on  a  secret  mis- 
sion for  the  President.  How's  that  for  a  start  for  your 
new  story  ?  Naturally,  I  can't  tell  even  you  all  the  facts, 
and  what  I  do  tell  you  will  have  to  be  carefully  dis- 
guised if  you  use  it.  But  here  is  the  plain,  unvarnished 
truth:  Europe — not  one  single  country  but  the  whole 
of  it — looks  like  being  in  such  a  mess  very  soon  that  the 
late  War  compared  to  it  will  seem  like  a  picnic  party. 


SHOCKS!  153 

.Only  one  thing  can  stop  this  hell  from  breaking  loose, 
and  that  is  the  action  which  America  decides  to  take. 
More  than  that  I  cannot  tell  you  at  the  moment,  but  the 
President  has  sent  me  over  here  as  his  special  confi- 
dential envoy  to  meet  the  highest  officials  in  England 
and  France.  The  greatest  secrecy  had  to  be  observed 
from  the  beginning ;  so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  I  travelled 
on  the  boat  sufficiently  changed  in  appearance  as  to  be 
taken  for  another  man.  Meantime,  the  American  Press 
has  been  announcing  that  I  am  on  holiday  in  the  Far 
East.  I  was  going  direct  to  London,  but  forty-eight 
hours  before  the  ship  was  due  at  Southampton,  I  had 
a  wireless  message  in  the  President's  own  private  code. 
Arrangements  have  been  altered  apparently,  because 
this  message  told  me  to  proceed  to  Paris  first.  I  am  now 
awaiting  further  instructions,  but  have  already  arranged 
an  interview  with  the  French  Premier  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  eleven  o'clock  at  the  Quai  d'Orsai." 

The  cigar  trembled  in  Chertsey's  hand. 

"Under  what  name  did  you  register  here,  sir?"  he 
asked. 

"My  present  name  is  'James  Forbes,'  "  replied  Wash- 
burn  Rinehart;  "you  must  always  address  me  as 
'Forbes' — and  it  would  be  inadvisable,  I  think,  to  let 
anyone  in  the  hotel  know  that  we  are  related." 

"Who  did  the  disguising?"  the  novelist  found  him- 
self asking. 

His  uncle  smiled  reminiscently. 

"Do  you  remember  Dwight?" 

"He  was  your  valet,  wasn't  he?" 


154  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"Yes.  An  amusing  cuss — and  a  most  reliable  fellow. 
He  touched  my  face  up  every  morning,  and  dressed 
my  hair  differently,  so  that  I  changed  from  Washburn 
Rinehart  to  James  Forbes,  an  American  buyer  of 
Yorkshire  woollen  goods.  The  only  other  person  in  the 
know  was  the  captain  of  the  boat." 

Chertsey  was  inclined  to  shout;  his  pent-up  feelings 
required  a  vent;  there  were  other  men  who  knew  the 
secret,  apart  from  the  skipper  of  the  Morengaria  and 
Dwight,  his  uncle's  valet.  Something  of  the  damnable 
purpose  of  The  Black  Heart  now  became  partially  clear : 
he  had  been  initiated  into  that  peculiar  Order,  not  be- 
cause he  was  presumed  to  be  a  ruined  gambler,  not 
because  it  was  thought  that  the  lure  of  possible  ad- 
venture would  appeal  to  him,  but  because  of  his  known 
relationship  to  that  friend  of  the  United  States  Presi- 
dent, Washburn  Rinehart. 

"A  remarkable  story,  sir;  it  should  make  a  jolly 
good  foundation  for  a  novel.  Just  my  stuff,  too." 

He  had  to  say  something,  but  the  words  did  not  rep- 
resent the  true  product  of  his  thoughts.  Ever  since 
Rinehart  had  started  to  tell  his  story  and  had  stated  that 
he  was  travelling  incognito,  he  had  jumped  to  the  con- 
clusion that  his  uncle  must  be  the  man  in  whom  The 
Black  Heart  were  so  interested.  What  was  he  to  do? 
That  was  the  all-important,  vital  question.  Sir  Luke 
Benisty  was  probably  aware  by  this  time  that  the  two 
had  met — no  doubt  a  spy  of  that  aristocratic  scoundrel 
had  occupied  a  seat  in  the  dining-room  that  night.  He 
would  also  be  aware  that,  directly  he  (Chertsey)  dis- 


SHOCKS!  155 

covered  that  Mr.  James  Forbes  was  none  other  than  his 
own  uncle,  he  would  discount  the  statement  that  the 
latter  was  an  international  criminal  whose  actions  had 
placed  him  outside  the  law,  and  whom  the  Society  of 
The  Black  Heart  were  resolved  to  punish. 

His  predicament  was  acute.  On  the  one  hand  there 
was  his  oath.  This  had  been  a  solemn  declaration, 
although  he  had  been  forced  to  make  it.  In  the  present 
circumstances  he  would  have  every  excuse,  of  course,  to 
forfeit  his  pledge,  but — and  this  was  a  very  serious 
factor — he  had  sufficient  respect  for  the  Organisation 
to  be  assured  that  a  betrayal  on  his  part  would  meet 
with  swift  and  effective  reprisals.  He  would  have 
ignored  the  threat  of  personal  vengeance,  but  the  pun- 
ishment would  go  further  than  that:  it  would 
mean  that  he  would  be  placed  very  much  hors  de  com- 
bat and  incapacitated  to  take  any  further  action.  This 
would  mean,  in  turn,  that  his  promise  to  Ann  Trent- 
ham  would  be  worthless.  The  situation  resolved  itself 
into  a  nice  problem  of  ethics,  and  an  immediate  solu- 
tion seemed  extremely  difficult.  But  so  swiftly  was  his 
brain  working  under  this  stimulus,  that  only  a  few 
more  seconds  had  elapsed  before  he  had  planned  a  way 
out  of  the  impasse. 

He  turned  to  his  uncle,  who  was  surveying  the  long 
ash  on  his  cigar. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  sir,  if  I  raise  what  seems 
to  be  an  elementary  point,"  he  said. 

The  older  man  turned  to  him  indulgently. 

"Say  anything  you  like,  my  boy." 


156  THE  BLACK    HEART 

"Well,  sir,  it  strikes  me  that  you  are  running  a  cer- 
tain risk  in  being  foot-loose  and  alone  in  Paris  like 
this.  If  the  situation  in  Europe  is  as  serious  as  you 
say,  the  position  apparently  is  that  you  are  the  only 
person  standing  in  the  way  of  about  the  most  unholy 
mess  civilisation  has  ever  known.  Isn't  that  so?" 

Washburn  Rinehart  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

"Yes,"  he  agreed,  "I  suppose  that  is  the  exact  state 
of  affairs." 

"And  yet,"  continued  his  nephew  in  a  more  agitated 
tone,  "here  you  are,  living  openly  in  one  of  the  best- 
known  hotels  in  Paris !  It's  true  you  are  supposed  to  be 
a  nondescript  buyer  of  woollen  goods,  but  there  must 
be  hundreds  of  persons  who  realise  who  you  really  are ! 
Look  here,  Uncle,  Paris  is  one  of  the  biggest  centres  in 
Europe  for  International  criminals — you  must  know 
that  even  better  than  I  do.  What  is  more,  it  is  always 
full  of  Secret  Service  Agents.  Good  God,  sir,  do  let  me 
warn  you  to  be  on  your  guard!  Why  don't  you  get 
protection  from  your  Embassy?" 

Rinehart  patted  the  speaker's  arm  across  the  small 
table. 

"My  Gosh,  Gilbert,  you  talk  like  one  of  your  own 
books!"  he  exclaimed,  amusedly;  "it  just  thrills  me  to 
listen  to  you !  All  that  you  say  may  be  true,  but  I  never 
travel  without  a  little  steel  friend  in  a  back  pocket,  and 
I  guess  if  there  is  any  funny  business  I  can  prove  my- 
self as  quick  on  the  draw  as  most  men.  Besides,  while 
that  kind  of  stuff  is  fine  to  read  about  in  books,  it 
doesn't  happen  any  longer  in  real  life." 


SHOCKS!  157 

"But  I  implore  you  to  listen  to  me,  sir,"  rejoined 
Chertsey.  "The  most  impossible  things  are  quite  likely 
to  happen — they  are  happening  every  day — happening 
now.  You  said  yourself,  a  few  moments  ago,  that  it  was 
necessary  for  you  to  be  disguised  on  board  the  liner — 
how  much  more  important  then  is  it  that  you  should 
take  the  greatest  care  now  that  you  are  in  Paris !" 

Rinehart  became  more  thoughtful. 

"But  France  is  a  friendly  country,"  he  rejoined; 
"what  I  mean  is  that  up  till  now  France  has  refused 
to  come  into  this  gigantic  conspiracy  against  the  peace 
of  Europe." 

"I  suppose  it's  Germany  again?"  asked  the  novelist, 
breathlessly. 

"Germany — and  someone  even  bigger." 

The  listener  seized  his  uncle's  arm. 

"Don't  you  see,"  he  replied,  firecely,  "that  the  agents, 
the  spies,  the  underground-men  of  these  Powers  must 

be  swarming  in  Paris  ?  And  there  are  others "  He 

stopped  suddenly.  He  had  done  all  he  could ;  and  in  his 
present  mood  his  uncle  might  scoff  at  the  real  truth 
were  he  to  tell  it  to  him. 

Throwing  the  butt  of  his  cigar  into  the  fire,  Wash- 
burn  Rinehart  now  rose. 

"This  isn't  the  kind  of  talk  that  should  follow  a 
thoroughly  good  dinner,  Gilbert,"  he  said,  with  an  air 
of  finality;  "if  you  don't  mind,  we  won't  discuss  this 
matter  any  more — at  least  not  to-night.  I  have  to  pay 
an  interesting  call  and  I  should  like  to  take  you  with 
me." 


158  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I'll  be  very  pleased  to  come,  sir,"  said  Chertsey, 
quickly.  After  what  had  gone  before,  he  was  determined 
not  to  allow  his  uncle  out  of  his  sight.  When  the  storm 
broke,  as  it  would  very  soon,  he  felt  convinced,  he 
would  be  by  Rinehart's  side  to  render  what  assistance 
was  possible. 

"Ever  heard  of  the  club  they  call  Le  Sport,  here?" 
asked  his  uncle. 

"No— what  is  it?"  He  was  instantly  on  his  guard; 
he  knew  sufficient  of  Paris  to  be  aware  that  the  term 
might  cover  a  mulititude  of  things. 

"You  needn't  look  so  worried,"  said  Rinehart,  re- 
assuringly; "Le  Sport  is  not  an  apache  den  nor  a 
questionable  Montmartre  night  resort ;  it's  the  Parisian 
Sportsmen's  most  exclusive  club,  to  which  admittance 
is  only  possible  to  the  favoured  few,  and  where  the 
credentials  of  even  these  have  to  be  impeccable.  It  is 
situated  in  the  Avenue  Wagram,  off  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  is  of  its  kind,  I  understand,  the  seventh 
wonder  of  the  world.  They  say  the  sky  is  the  limit 
when  the  members  sit  down  to  play." 

"Who's  your  sponsor,  sir?"  asked  Chertsey. 

"A  fellow  who's  well  known  to  the  Embassy  crowd, 
and  whose  full  name  is  a  mouthful — M.  le  Comte  Rene 
de  Guichard.  As  you  may  imagine,  he  is  the  real  thing 
in  aristocrats.  He  is  a  member  of  Le  Sport,  and  has 
kindly  offered  to  introduce  me  to-night.  There  should 
be  no  difficulty  about  you  coming  along  as  well.  The 
experience  should  be  useful  to  you." 


SHOCKS!  159 

"What's  my  character  to  be — nephew,  or  merely  a 
friend?" 

"Oh — nephew.  That  should  make  it  easier  for  le 
Comte  to  get  you  in.  According  to  Guichard,  you  can 
sometimes  see  bridge  being  played  there  for  as  much 
as  a  thousand  dollars  a  hundred.  There  is  roulette,  bac- 
carat and  other  little  swindles."  The  speaker  laughed. 
"I  may  have  a  flutter  myself — Paris  always  makes  me 
feel  twenty  years  younger,  Gilbert,  my  boy.  But,  come, 
let's  go  up  to  my  room." 

It  was  a  large,  well-appointed  bedroom  on  the  second 
floor.  Its  furnishings  included  two  massive  easy  chairs 
and  a  roomy  settee.  Rinehart  locked  the  door  im- 
mediately after  entering. 

"I  have  been  thinking  over  what  you  said  just  now, 
Gilbert,"  he  remarked;  "you  see  this?"  he  continued, 
taking  a  leather  dispatch  case  from  a  stout  pig-skin  kit- 
bag,  formidably  fitted  with  two  locks. 

"Contains  something  of  value,  does  it?" 

His  uncle  smiled  somewhat  grimly. 

"If  there  is  anything  in  your  sensational  remarks  just 
now,  Gilbert,  what's  in  here,"  tapping  the  despatch 
case,  "ought  to  fetch  a  pretty  big  price  in  certain  quar- 
ters. A  million  pounds  would  possibly  be  the  lowest 
bid.  No,"  answering  Chertsey's  look  of  inquiry,  "I'm 
not  going  to  tell  you  anything  more  about  the  contents 
because  it's  perhaps  better  that  you  should  not  know. 
Knowledge  in  this  case  may  possibly  be  dangerous. 

"But  it's  only  a  fool  who  does  not  take  precautions," 
the  American  went  on.  "That  kit-bag  has  two  double 


160  THE  BLACK  HEART 

locks,  but  there's  nothing  to  prevent  an  ambitious  thief 
from  stealing  it,  and  extracting  the  contents  at  his 
leisure." 

"What  about  the  hotel  safe?"  submitted  Chertsey. 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  anyone  else  knowing 
that  this  is  in  my  possession,"  he  replied.  "Years  ago 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  well-known  private  de- 
tective. He  told  me  that  the  reason  so  few  clever  crooks 
were  caught  with  their  spoils  was  because  they  used 
their  brains.  I  intend  to  use  what  few  I  have  to-night — 
always  assuming  that  your  surmise  is  correct,  Gilbert." 

He  walked  over  to  the  roomy  settee  and  picked  up 
the  middle  of  three  loose  cushions  fitting  the  seat. 

"Have  you  ever  noticed,"  Rinehart  asked,  "how  any- 
one taking  a  seat  on  a  thing  like  this,"  pointing  to  the 
settee,  "always  chooses  a  corner?  That  means  that  the 
middle  seat  is  generally  unoccupied.  Now  for  a  little 
innocent  deception." 

Whilst  Chertsey  stared  in  astonishment,  not  realis- 
ing yet  what  was  in  the  other's  mind,  Washburn  Rine- 
hart ran  a  sharp  bladed  pocket  knife  carefully  along  the 
corded  edge  of  the  cushion,  but  only  deep  enough  to 
cut  the  outer  fabric.  The  slit  thus  made  was  about  six 
inches  long  and  was  in  the  centre.  That  done,  he  un- 
locked the  despatch  case  and  took  from  it  a  flat  oil- 
skin envelope  somewhat  resembling  a  tobacco  pouch, 
and  gently  inserted  this  into  the  middle  of  the  cushion, 
taking  care  not  to  disturb  the  inner  lining.  He  placed 


SHOCKS!  161 

it  back  on  the  settee  and  then  turned  to  Chertsey  with 
a  little  triumphant  smile. 

"I'll  bet  that's  reasonably  safe!"  and  with  another 
laugh:  "if  anything  should  happen  to  me,  my  boy, 
you'll  know  where  those  papers  are.  And  now  we  must 
be  hustling.  I  arranged  to  be  at  the  Club  to  meet  M.  le 
Comte  at  nine  o'clock.  Things  won't  be  in  full  swing 
yet,  but  we  shall  see  sufficient  to  interest  us,  no  doubt." 

"The  seventh  wonder  in  the  world"  in  gaming  houses 
proved  to  consist  of  a  great  mansion  that  had  once 
housed  one  of  the  noblest  families  in  France.  The  resi- 
dence, when  left  by  the  last  occupier,  had  been  bought 
by  a  committee  of  aristocratic  Parisian  sportsmen,  and 
a  mint  of  money  expended  in  transforming  it  into  a 
club. 

Handing  his  card  to  the  gorgeously-uniformed  hall- 
porter,  Rinehart  and  his  companion  were  escorted  into 
a  waiting-room,  where  the  Louis  Quinze  furnishing 
made  the  American's  eyes  shine  with  envy. 

Five  minutes'  wait  and  then  a  knock  on  the  door.  The 
next  moment  a  man  burst  into  the  room,  bringing  with 
him  a  flood  of  excited  French. 

"A  thousand  welcomes,  mon  ami!"  he  said  to  Rine- 
hart ;  "I  am  enchanted !" 

M.  le  Comte  Rene  de  Guichard  was  a  small  man  of 
indeterminate  age,  immaculately  dressed,  with  a  pale 
face  from  which  a  pair  of  startlingly  dark  eyes  shone  in 
a  somewhat  disconcerting  manner.  He  was  heavily 


162  THE  BLACK  HEART 

flavoured  with  scent,  and  as  he  talked,  a  pair  of  small, 
over-manicured  hands,  white  as  any  woman's,  gestured 
unceasingly. 

Gilbert  Chertsey  mentally  called  him  a  very  rude 
name  within  a  moment  of  meeting.  M.  le  Comte  Rene  de 
Guichard  was  possibly  an  aristocrat,  but  he  was  also  a 
person  of  unsavoury  thoughts  and  habits  unless  all 
Chertsey 's  intuitions  were  badly  at  fault. 

"This  is  my  nephew,  Gilbert  Chertsey,"  announced 
Rinehart. 

"Enchanted  to  meet  you,  Monsieur  Chertsey !"  said 
le  Comte,  graciously;  "please  understand  that  you  are 
my  very  welcome  guests  to-night,  and  that  the  Club 
is  thrown  open  to  you  in  the  widest  sense.  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  interested." 

"Interested"  was  scarcely  the  word.  Early  as  was  the 
hour,  the  many  spacious  rooms  devoted  to  various 
forms  of  gambling  were  thronged.  Several  nationalities 
contributed  to  the  gamesters ;  there  was  an  East  Indian 
prince  and  a  Japanese  nobleman,  playing  roulette  in  the 
same  company  as  two  deposed  European  kings  and  a 
French  race-horse  owner,  whose  wealth  was  stated  to 
be  fabulous.  In  the  baccarat  room,  an  English  Jew, 
high  in  the  regard  of  the  present  British  Government, 
was  holding  an  enormous  bank.  Chertsey  was  able  to 
imagine  himself  back  at  the  Sporting  Club  at  Monte 
Carlo — but  in  this  room  there  seemed  no  limit  to  the 
wagering.  Only  millionaires  could  go  this  pace. 
•  The  croupier  having  reached  out  his  long  spatule  and 
gathered  in  the  moneys  of  the  losers  of  the  last  coup, 


SHOCKS!  163 

made  his  challenging  cry:  Messieurs,  faites  vos  jeux. 
Les  jeux  sont  faites.  Rien  ne  va  plus! 

"We'll  watch  for  a  bit,  eh?"  whispered  Rinehart, 
and  Chertsey  nodded.  The  scene  was  intensely  stimu- 
lating and  he  forgot  everything  else. 

The  Jew  cast  his  gentle  eyes  round  the  table.  It  was 
evident  he  had  been  winning  heavily.  Yet,  with  in- 
comparable aplomb  he  showed  no  sign  of  excite- 
ment— not  even  when  a  single  wager  of  200,000  francs 
was  swept  towards  him  by  the  croupier. 

The  loser,  a  short,  swarthy- faced  South  American, 
who  Rinehart  whispered  was  a  multi-millionaire  cattle- 
king,  turned  to  him  with  a  hard,  defiant  glance. 

"There  is  no  limit,  you  say?" 

The  croupier  looked  at  the  banker,  and  the  Jew 
slightly  smiled. 

"There  is  no  limit,"  he  repeated  in  a  quiet,  im- 
personal tone. 

The  cattle-king,  who  had  apparently  been  waging  a 
desperate  duel  with  the  Banker,  placed  a  fresh  huge 
pile  of  notes  upon  the  table. 

"The  amount  of  the  wager,  monsieur?"  inquired 
the  croupier. 

"Two  hundred  thousand  francs !"  snapped  the  other. 

There  were  no  other  bets.  The  Banker  took  a  card 
from  the  box  and  passed  it  across  to  his  opponent.  He 
was  perfectly  calm  and  completely  self-possessed.  His 
pale  olive  face  looked  almost  bored.  In  that  moment 
the  Oriental  descent  of  the  man  could  easily  be  traced. 
Taking  another  card  from  the  box  for  himself,  he 


164  THE  BLACK  HEART 

idly  tossed  a  second  to  the  South  American  before 
helping  himself  to  another. 

The  crowd  of  watchers  leaned  forward,  some  of  the 
spectators  in  their  excitement  uttering  short,  stifled, 
staccato  cries. 

"Rubenstein  has  the  devil's  luck!"  exclaimed  a  man 
standing  to  Chertsey's  right;  "nothing  can  stop  him 
winning." 

Indeed,  it  seemed  so — the  Banker  had  drawn  a  five 
and  a  four  and  threw  them  down  on  the  table  im- 
mediately, face  uppermost.  The  cattle-king's  cards  were 
a  knave  and  a  six.  Consequently,  the  Banker  having  the 
required  number  of  nine  in  his  two  cards,  won  the 
coup. 

Although  he  had  gained  another  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  within  the  last  two  minutes,  Ruben- 
stein  looked  more  bored  than  before. 

Chertsey,  turning  swiftly  to  comment  to  his  uncle 
on  the  Jew's  immobility,  was  surprised  to  find  that 
Rinehart  had  disappeared.  It  was  not,  however,  until 
ten  minutes  later,  when  his  uncle  was  still  missing, 
that  he  felt  the  first  premonition  that  something  was 
wrong.  Before  that,  he  had  assumed  that  Washburn 
Rinehart  had  been  called  away  to  engage  in  conversa- 
tion with  his  host  of  the  evening;  but  le  Comte  Rene 
de  Guichard,  when  he  spoke  to  him  on  the  subject,  made 
the  startling  statement  that  he  had  not  himself  been 
in  the  baccarat  room,  nor  had  he  sent  for  the  missing 
man. 


SHOCKS!  165 

His  misgivings  increasing  considerably  at  this  re- 
mark, which  he  had  no  option  but  to  accept,  of  course, 
Chertsey,  with  de  Guichard  by  his  side,  commenced  a 
systematic  search  of  the  rooms. 

Washburn  Rinehart  was  not  in  any  of  them !  What 
was  more,  neither  the  members  nor  the  club  servants 
professed  to  having  seen  him. 

The  novelist  felt  that  he  was  in  a  nightmare  of  his 
own  imagining,  yet  common  sense  assured  him  that, 
by  some  uncanny  means,  Rinehart  had  been  spirited 
away — and  under  his  very  nose. 

For  what  purpose?  For  some  damnable  purpose  with- 
out a  doubt — a  purpose  in  which  the  Society  of  The 
Black  Heart  must  have  a  hand. 

When  an  hour  had  passed,  M.  le  Comte  Rene  de 
Guichard  declared  himself  to  be  on  the  brink  of  mad- 
ness. 

"To  imagine,  monsieur,  that  such  a  thing  could  have 
happened  in  Le  Sport — and  to  my  own  guest,  too! 
Can  it  be  possible  that  your  uncle  received  a  message? 
A  message  of  such  importance  that  he  left  the  Club 
at  once  without  wishing  you  farewell?" 

Chertsey  subjected  the  speaker  to  another  keen 
scrutiny.  He  had  disliked  this  man  on  sight,  disliked 
him  still  more  upon  a  better  acquaintance,  and  was 
fully  prepared  to  discover  that  de  Guichard  had  played 
a  part  in  this  sinister  game  himself.  But  these  were  all 
surface  impressions  after  all;  there  was  no  direct  evi- 
dence. 


166  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  scarcely  think  it  likely,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  replied, 
"but,  all  the  same,  I  should  be  grateful  if  you  would 
have  fresh  inquiries  made  on  that  point." 

"Certamement,  monsieur!"  Le  Comte  led  the  way 
to  the  imposing  vestibule.  Here  he  summoned  the  hall- 
porter,  addressing  him  in  rapid  French. 

The  man  pondered.  Then  he  spoke  to  Chertsey:  "Of 
a  certainty  I  did  not  see  the  gentleman  leave  the  Club, 
Monsieur.  But" — with  his  hand  to  his  forehead — "now 
I  come  to  think  again,  I  have  a  slight  recollection  of 
seeing  a  gentleman  who  might  have  been  M'sieur's 
uncle,  getting  into  a  taxi-cab  over  there" — he  pointed 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  Avenue. 

"What  time  was  this?" 

"It  might  have  been  an  hour  ago,  M'sieur." 

M.  le  Comte  clapped  his  woman's  hands. 

"You  hear,  Monsieur  Chertsey!  It  is  what  I  say: 
your  uncle  received  an  urgent  message  and  left  the 
Club  so  hurriedly  that  he  did  not  stop  to  wish  you 
au  revoir." 

"I  cannot  quite  understand  that,"  replied  Chertsey; 
"he  was  standing  by  my  side  when  I  last  saw  him. 

However "  He  turned  to  the  hall-porter.  "Was  this 

gentleman  alone?' 

The  man's  memory  seemed  to  be  rapidly  improving. 
The  words  now  came  more  volubly. 

"No,  m'sieur — the  gentleman  was  with  another.  This 
second  was  very  tall — much  taller  than  Monsieur  him- 
self— and  he  walked  like  this."  The  speaker  stooped 
his  shoulders. 


SHOCKS!  167 

The  man's  gesture  brought  a  vivid  memory  into 
Chertsey's  mind.  With  the  thought  of  The  Black  Heart 
at  the  back  of  his  brain,  it  was  natural,  perhaps,  for  the 
hall-porter's  words  to  conjure  up  a  recollection  of  an 
abominable  member  of  that  evil  company.  Could  it  be 
that  the  very  tall,  stoop-shouldered  man  was  Barring- 
ton  Snell? 

He  made  a  rapid  decision.  With  Washburn  Rine- 
hart  spirited  away,  it  was  his  obvious  duty  to  guard — 
with  his  life,  if  needs  be — that  oilskin  packet  which 
his  uncle  had  taken  the  precaution  to  secrete  in  his  bed- 
room earlier  in  the  evening. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  M.  le  Comte,"  he  said, 
dissembling;  "after  this  statement  of  the  hall-porter, 
your  explanation,  sounds  most  feasible.  I  do  not  think 
I  will  wait,  however;  should  my  uncle  return,  perhaps 
you  will  be  kind  enough  to  inform  him  that  I  have 
gone  back  to  the  hotel  and  will  wait  for  him  there?" 

M.  le  Comte  Rene  de  Guichard  replied  vociferously 
that  he  would  be  enchanted  to  deliver  the  message. 
Chertsey,  on  his  part,  felt  that  he  would  be  enchanted 
to  kick  this  pasty-faced,  over-mannered  fop  the  length 
of  the  vestibule,  but,  with  a  short  bow  to  the  fellow, 
he  walked  down  the  steps. 

The  night  was  fine,  and,  although  he  felt  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  be  at  the  Hotel  Charles  VII  as  soon 
as  possible,  he  decided  to  walk.  He  could  think  better 
when  swinging  along  at  a  rapid  pace;  and  this  prob- 
lem, although  perfectly  clear  in  its  main  essential 
feature,  required  a  considerable  amount  of  thought. 


168  THE  BLACK  HEART 

The  Enemy  had  shown  brains.  He  was  not  surprised 
at  this,  but  the  knowledge  did  little  or  nothing  to  soothe 
his  wounded  pride.  He  had  made  a  vow  with  himself 
that  his  uncle  should  not  be  molested — and  yet  Rine- 
hart  had  been  whisked  away  from  under  his  very 
nose.  .  .  . 

It  was  not  a  comforting  thought,  but  he  clenched  his 
teeth  with  the  reflection  that  there  were  still  several 
more  rounds  to  be  fought.  That  he  was  a  lone  hand  in 
this  business  made  his  resolution  all  the  keener. 

The  essential  thing  was  to  get  back  to  the  hotel.  By 
this  time  he  had  reached  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  and  the 
first  ardour  for  exercise  had  left  him. 

As  he  stopped,  a  taxi-cab  drifted  slowly  towards 
him  from  the  direction  of  the  Champs  Elysees.  He  put 
up  his  hand  and  it  stopped. 

"Get  in — quickly!" 

In  the  shadow  of  the  opposite  corner  he  could  see  a 
girl's  white  face.  What  fresh  trap  was  this?  A  second 
later  he  tore  the  door  open  with  a  fierce  convulsive 
movement — 

"Ann!" 

As  he  slammed  the  door  behind  him,  and  stretched 
out  both  arms  towards  the  girl,  the  taxi-cab  shot  for- 
ward at  an  amazing  pace. 

"Ann!  What  miracle  is  this?"  he  exclaimed;  "what 
does  it  mean?" 

The  girl's  eyes  were  softly  aglow  at  the  excitement  in 
his  voice,  but  after  giving  his  hands  a  gentle  returning 
pressure,  she  released  them. 


SHOCKS!  169 

"I  think  I  am  being  followed,"  was  all  she  said. 

Chertsey  looked  through  the  back  window.  Behind, 
and  travelling  at  tremendous  speed  along  the  Avenue 
Victor  Hugo,  pounded  a  long,  rakish  touring-car. 

"There's  a  touring-car  behind — are  they  in  that?" 

"Is  it  a  red  one?" 

She  shivered  slightly. 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  I  ought  not  to  have  dragged  you  into  this!" 

Chertsey  laughed  like  a  man  who  has  come  to  the 
end  of  a  long  road. 

"But,  my  dear,  I  had  already  hailed  this  cab  with  the 
intention  of  engaging  it !  That's  why  I  used  the  word 
'miracle'  just  now;  and  as  for  the  gentlemen  be- 
hind  "  He  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  for  with 

what  seemed  a  volcanic  swoop,  the  red  touring-car  drew 
alongside.  The  next  moment  a  man,  the  upper  part  of 
whose  face  was  masked,  leaped  on  to  the  swaying 
running-board  of  the  taxi-cab. 

In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  revolver. 


Chapter  XVII 
THE  THIRD  CUSHION 

THROUGH  the  slits  in  the  mask  the  man's 
eyes  gleamed  balefully. 
"I'll  trouble  you  both  to  leave  this  cab  and 
join  my  friends,"  he  said  in  a  hard,  rasping  voice. 

The  appearance  of  this  apparition  had  been  so  sen- 
sational— the  man  must  have  risked  his  life  in  making 
that  daring  leap  from  one  car  to  the  other — that  Chert- 
sey  could  not  immediately  collect  his  thoughts.  He  had 
certainly  seen  the  red  touring-car  drawing  near,  but  at 
the  most  he  had  anticipated  the  taxi-cab  being  headed 
off.  With  his  back  to  the  taxi-driver,  he  could  not  tell 
what  was  happening  in  front,  but,  whether  through 
bravado  or  fear,  the  man  had  seemed  to  have  increased 
his  pace  instead  of  slackening  it.  The  fact  was  encourag- 
ing. 

"My  friends  will  be  most  charmed  to  greet  you,  Miss 
Trentham,"  said  the  man  on  the  running-board. 

«T  » 

He  got  no  further.  With  a  lithe  spring,  Chertsey 
lunged  forward.  His  left  fist  landed  clean  between  the 
gleaming  eyes  with  smashing  force,  just  as  the  interior 
of  the  cab  was  filled  with  revolver  smoke.  Chertsey 

170 


THE  THIRD   CUSHION  171 

had  a  feeling  that  a  red-hot  iron  had  grazed  his  left 
shoulder,  but  an  irrepressible  sense  of  elation  was  his 
as  he  saw  the  masked  man  sway  uncertainly  and  then 
overbalance  into  the  roadway. 

"Keep  away!"  he  said  sternly  to  Ann;  "don't  look!" 

He  himself  sprawled  back  on  the  seat.  The  sight  had 
sickened  him — the  force  of  his  blow  had  caused  the  man 
to  fall  beneath  the  very  wheels  of  the  giant  touring- 
car.  .  .  .  He  heard  a  hoarse,  horrible  scream,  fol- 
lowed by  a  series  of  explosive  French  oaths.  But  the 
pursuers  had  halted  in  their  chase — halted  long  enough 
to  stop  the  car  and  pick  up  the  maimed  member  of 
their  party. 

"What  was  that  dreadful  scream?"  asked  Ann. 

He  thought  it  better  to  tell  her.  "The  man  fell  in 
front  of  his  own  car — it  will  give  us  a  chance  to  get 
away." 

There  came  no  immediate  sound  of  pursuit,  and  a 
minute  later  the  taxi-cab  rushed  into  the  well-lighted 
space  of  the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  Without  slacken- 
ing speed,  it  shot  up  the  Rue  Royale  and  into  the 
crowded  Boulevard  des  Capucines.  In  this  hectic  mael- 
strom of  night  traffic  (Chertsey  had  previously  chris- 
tened the  Madeleine  "The  Assassins'  Corner") 
it  seemed  impossible  for  them  to  be  successfully  fol- 
lowed, and  he  turned  to  the  girl  with  a  gesture  of  pro- 
found relief. 

"Where  can  we  talk  ?"  he  asked.  His  tone  was  level, 
almost  matter-of-fact;  it  appeared  to  be  a  common- 
place now  for  him  to  move  amid  scenes  of  murder  and 


172  THE  BLACK  HEART 

violence — and  another  inevitability  that  he  should  meet 
Ann  Trentham  at  the  most  unlikely  time  and  in  the 
most  extraordinary  place. 

"We  will  go  to  my  hotel — it's  in  the  Rue  Caumar- 
tin,"  Ann  said,  before  picking  up  the  speaking  tube  and 
giving  the  driver  a  few  quick  instructions.  The  taxi 
skidded  and  swirled  in  and  out  of  the  traffic,  suddenly 
turned  to  the  left  past  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix,  skirted 
the  Opera  House,  turned  sharply  to  the  left  again,  and 
a  few  minutes  later  stopped  with  what  might  have  been 
a  snort  of  triumph  outside  the  modest  entrance  to  a 
small  middle-class  hotel. 

"This  is  it,"  announced  Ann. 

Chertsey  sprang  out,  a  two-hundred-franc  note  in  his 
hand.  A  man  who  but  for  his  hat  might  have  been  a 
near  relation  of  Josh  Twinnell  of  immortal  memory, 
showed  white  teeth  in  an  appreciative  smile  as  his  pas- 
senger thanked  him  for  the  courage  shown. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  replied;  "I  showed  them  what 
La  Belle  could  do,"  pointing  to  his  engine.  "Merci,  mon- 
sieur," touching  his  hat  again. 

Ann  led  the  way  through  the  hotel  entrance  to  a 
roomy  lounge  on  the  ground  floor. 

"We  will  have  some  coffee,  and  smoke,"  she  said. 

Chertsey  pulled  out  his  cigarette  case  and  passed  it 
to  her. 

"I  think  that  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  I  must  have 
become  a  murderer,"  he  said,  "but  seeing  you,  Ann, 
almost  makes  me  forget  it.  What  are  you  doing  in 
Paris? — And  what,  above  all,  were  you  doing  riding 


THE  THIRD  CUSHION  173 

alone  in  a  taxi-cab  away  from  the  Grands  Boulevards 
to-night?  Do  you  remember  the  promise  you  made 
me?" 

She  reflectively  blew  a  little  cloud  of  smoke. 

"I  did  not  make  that  promise,  Gilbert;  all  I  said 
was  that  I  would  be  careful.  My  reason  for  being 
here  is  that  I  followed  Sylvester  Lade  across  the  Chan- 
nel. I  am  confident  that  he  did  not  see  me  himself, 
but  he  must  have  been  given  the  tip ;  those  men  to-night 
were  creatures  of  his;  they  must  have  followed  me, 
and  hung  about  whilst  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  leave 
Le  Sport." 

"You  astonishing  person !  How  did  you  know  I  went 
into  that  club?" 

"I  saw  you,"  she  replied;  "you  were  with  an  older 
man." 

The  words  gave  Chertsey  a  painful  stab.  He  rose 
quickly. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

He  seated  himself  again  and  leaned  towards  her. 

"Ann,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  commanded  her  in- 
stant attention,  "the  first  act  of  this  drama  you've  told 
me  about  has  commenced.  That  man  you  saw  me  with 
to-night  was  my  uncle.  His  name  is  Washburn  Rine- 
hart,  and  he  is  the  second  most  important  person  in 
America.  He  disappeared  in  a  perfectly  amazing  fashion 
to-night.  We  were  standing  side  by  side  in  the  baccarat 
room  watching  the  gambling,  but  when  I  turned  to 
speak  to  him — he  was  gone!  He  vanished  without  a 
word  to  me,  and  the  only  clue  I  could  get  was  from  the 


i74  THE  BLACK  HEART 

hall-porter,  who  said  that  he  saw  him  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Avenue  Wagram,  getting  into  a  taxi- 
cab,  accompanied  by  a  tall  man  who  stooped.  The  Black 
Heart  includes  a  tall  man  who  stoops ;  his  name  is  Bar- 
rington  Snell,  and  I  can  quite  imagine  that  he  is  a 
fitting  comrade  for  that  precious  pair,  Sylvester  Lade 
and  Sir  Luke  Benisty!" 

"You  say  that  Washburn  Rinehart  is  your  uncle?" 
The  girl's  voice  was  tense. 

"Yes.  You  got  my  letter?"  As  Ann  nodded,  he  con- 
tinued his  explanation:  "the  job  I  mentioned  in  that 
letter  was  an  instruction  which  Benisty  gave  me  him- 
self. I  had  to  come  to  Paris,  put  up  at  the  Hotel 
Charles  VII  (where  a  room  had  already  been  engaged 
for  me)  and  make  friends  with  a  man  who  had  regis- 
tered as  'James  Forbes.'  I  need  scarcely  tell  you  after 
this  that  'James  Forbes'  was  my  uncle  travelling  under 
another  name.  He  had  come  to  Europe,  he  told  me  to- 
night, as  a  confidential  envoy  of  the  President " 

Ann  seized  his  arm. 

"Whose  suggestion  was  it — going  to  Le  Sport,  I 
mean?" 

"That's  the  remarkable  thing  about  it,"  replied 
Chertsey;  "it  was  my  uncle's  own  idea  that  we  should 
go  on  to  that  club  after  dinner,  and  that  I  should  accom- 
pany him.  Apparently,  it's  a  great  honour  to  be  in- 
vited there,  and  he  seemed  very  bucked  about  an  invita- 
tion he  had  received  from  a  member,  a  French  Count 
named  Rene  de  Guichard,  who  was  well  in,  he  said, 
with  the  American  Embassy  crowd." 


THE  THIRD  CUSHION  175 

"Did  you  see  de  Guichard?" 

Chertsey  set  down  his  coffee-cup  with  a  jerk. 

"I  saw  him — and  I  did  not  like  him,"  he  answered ; 
"the  man  looked  the  worst  kind  of  French  rotter  to 
me." 

"He  is  probably  in  with  Benisty,"  summed  up  the 
girl;  "did  your  uncle  give  you  any  hint  of  his  mis- 
sion?" 

"Nothing  definite,  but  I  gathered  that  it  was  some- 
thing frightfully  important.  Wait  a  minute/*  he  re- 
flected ;  "he  said  this :  that  there  was  something  brew- 
ing in  Europe  in  comparison  with  which  the  last  war 
would  appear  a  mere  picnic  party,  and  that  it  depended 
upon  America  whether  this  hell  would  break  loose." 

He  heard  the  girl  gasp. 

"The  worst  has  happened,"  she  said,  "your  uncle 
has  been  trapped,  lured  to  Paris  probably  by  a  false 
message,  and  is  now  in  the  hands  of  Benisty  and  his 
gang  of  international  conspirators.  We  must  discover 
where  he  is  and  if  possible  rescue  him." 

All  the  fears  which  had  been  besieging  Chertsey 
since  the  moment  he  found  his  uncle  separated  from 
him,  were  expressed  with  stark  simplicity  in  the  words ; 
and  a  second  painful  stab  of  memory  made  him  rise. 

"You  remind  me  of  something  I  have  to  do,  Ann," 
he  said. 

She  took  his  extended  hand.  "Gilbert,  I  want  you 
now  to  promise  me  something.  I  want  you  to  forget 
that  I  am  merely  a  girl,  and  to  let  me  know  at  once 
if  you  get  any  clue  from  Benisty.  It  is  certain  that  he 


176  THE  BLACK  HEART 

is  already  in  Paris,  and  the  probability  is  that  he  will 
be  seeing  you  very  shortly.  I  shall  be  staying  in  this 
hotel  until  I  hear  from  you.  Will  you  promise  to  keep 
in  touch  with  me?" 

In  face  of  the  girl's  earnestness,  Chertsey's  better 
judgment  was  overcome.  "Directly  I  know  anything 
myself,  I  promise  to  let  you  know." 

She  walked  with  him  to  the  entrance  and  waited 
on  the  steps  whilst  a  porter  fetched  a  taxi-cab. 

As  Chertsey  turned  to  enter  the  vehicle,  she  said 
quietly :  "Gilbert,  take  the  greatest  care  of  yourself — 
I  implore  you  to  do  so,"  and  then  turned  swiftly  away. 

As,  ten  minutes  later,  he  walked  towards  the  bureau 
at  the  Hotel  Charles  VII,  Chertsey  prayed  that  the 
time  he  had  spent  with  Ann  Trentham  might  not  have 
made  him  too  late. 

"Has  Mr.  Forbes  returned  ?"  he  asked  the  night  clerk. 

"I  have  not  seen  him,  monsieur,"  was  the  answer. 

"Oh,  well,  then  I  know  where  he  is,"  declared 
Chertsey;  "will  you  please  give  me  the  key  to  his 
room — I  have  to  fetch  something?" 

The  clerk  hesitated  for  a  moment,  took  another  look 
at  Chertsey  and  then  appeared  to  cleanse  his  mind  from 
remaining  doubt.  He  handed  over  the  key  with  a  little 
ceremonious  bow. 

Directly  he  switched  on  the  light,  Chertsey  experi- 
enced a  sensation  of  nausea.  Someone  had  been  there 
before  him !  The  bedroom  was  in  the  wildest  confusion. 

The  first  thing  he  noticed  was  that  a  great  gash  had 


THE  THIRD  CUSHION  177 

been  cut  in  the  pig-skin  kitbag,  the  contents  of  which 
were  scattered  about  the  floor.  On  the  carpet,  near  the 
kitbag,  was  the  leather  despatch  case,  similarly  muti- 
lated. The  bed  had  been  stripped  and  the  clothes  flung 
into  a  corner.  Every  drawer  in  the  dressing-table  had 
been  pulled  out,  and  the  wardrobe  and  writing  table  had 
also  been  ransacked. 

After  this  first  preliminary  survey,  Chertsey's  eyes 
went  instinctively  to  the  settee.  The  three  cushions  had 
been  hurled  from  their  place  and  scattered. 

He  pounced  upon  the  nearest  and  found  it  intact.  A 
closer  examination  did  not  disclose  any  slit  in  the  bor- 
dered edge.  He  was  equally  unsuccessful  with  the  second 
cushion,  and  he  was  in  such  a  state  of  nerves  by  the 
time  he  picked  up  the  third  that  he  could  scarcely  grasp 
the  fabric.  Then  his  shaking  fingers,  exploring  the  sides, 
found  an  opening.  In  his  desperation  he  gave  the  cloth  a 
violent  tug,  and  the  next  moment  a  cloud  of  feathers 
filled  the  air.  Disregarding  these,  his  fingers  went 
searching — and  quickly  were  rewarded  by  the  touch  of 
the  oilskin  packet  he  sought.  Without  troubling  to 
open  it,  he  thrust  the  packet  into  the  pocket  of  his 
dinner  jacket.  His  sense  of  relief  was  so  profound  that 
he  was  forced  to  steady  himself  against  the  wall: 
Benisty  might  have  won  the  first  trick,  but  he  had 
trumped  his  second  ace ! 

Whatever  this  packet  contained,  he  knew  it  must 
not  be  found  on  him.  Closing  the  bedroom  door,  but 
not  locking  it,  he  hurried  to  his  own  room.  This  was 
undisturbed. 


i78  THE  BLACK  HEART 

A  minute  later  he  was  back  at  the  bureau,  demand- 
ing to  see  the  Manager.  Although  it  was  now  past 
midnight,  that  important  personage  was  found  in  his 
private  office. 

"I  have  just  been  up  to  the  room  of  my  friend,  Mr. 
James  Forbes,"  announced  Chertsey,  and  there  was  no 
need  for  him  to  assume  any  indignation.  "I  found  it  in 
the  wildest  disoider;  thieves  have  apparently  broken 
into  it." 

The  Manager  lifted  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  in- 
credulity. 

"But  that  is  impossible,  monsieur !  This  is  the  Hotel 
Charles  VII !  Thieves.  .  .  ."  He  smiled  as  one  who 
humours  a  lunatic. 

"You  had  better  come  and  see  for  yourself,"  re- 
plied Chertsey;  "in  fact,  I  insist  upon  you  doing  so." 

The  Manager  rose  importantly. 

"Very  well,  monsieur,  I  will." 

Five  minutes  later  M.  Choiseul  was  telephoning  for 
the  police. 

To  an  inquisitive  sergent  de  ville,  Chertsey  gave 
such  replies  as  he  thought  desirable,  and  then  retired 
to  his  room.  By  giving  the  alarm,  he  had  averted,  he 
hoped,  any  suspicion  which  might  have  been  directed 
against  himself.  Nothing  more  could  be  done  that 
night;  he  must  wait,  as  Ann  had  said,  for  Benisty 
to  give  him  a  clue. 

Washburn  Rinehart  was  undoubtedly  in  the  hands 
of  The  Black  Heart — but  he  would  find  him ! 


Chapter  XVIII 
BENISTY  REAPPEARS 

STUDYING  the  man  who  had  so  unexpectedly 
appeared  at  the  Hotel  Charles  VII,   Chertsey 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  could  not  be 
British — he  must  have  a  strong  foreign  element,  pos- 
sibly Oriental. 

"I  am  happy  in  being  able  to  relieve  your  fears, 
Mr.  Chertsey,"  said  Sir  Luke  Benisty.  "Forgive  me  for 
practising  what  must  have  appeared  to  be  a  deceit. 
At  the  time  I  gave  you  your  instructions,  I  had  no 
idea  that  the  person  calling  himself  'James  Forbes' 
was  actually  your  uncle.  You,  on  your  side,  were  quite 
unaware,  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart  was  a 
dangerous  meddler  in  European  politics " 

"You  told  me  at  the  time  he  was  a  criminal,"  came 
the  interruption;  "your  exact  words  being  that  Mr. 
Rinehart  was  an  International  malefactor  who  had  set 
the  law  at  defiance.  You  also  added  that  I  need  have  no 
conscience  in  acting  as  a  decoy  towards  this  man,  who 
had  to  be  removed  from  his  present  sphere  in  the  inter- 
ests of  humanity."  Watching  for  the  effect  the  re- 
joinder would  have,  the  speaker  noticed  the  other 
gnaw  his  lower  lip. 

179 


i8o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  quickly  recovered,  however. 

"All  that  you  say  is  true,  my  dear  Chertsey,"  he 
replied,  with  perfect  poise,  "and  I  would  assure  you 
that  when  I  made  the  statements,  I  did  not  go  outside 
the  truth.  The  fact  that  Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart  has 
proved  to  be  your  uncle  is  most  unfortunate,  but  he 
is  a  dangerous  man  to  be  at  large  in  Europe  just  now. 
However,  if  it  will  ease  your  mind,  I  will  make  you  a 
promise :  when  your  uncle  has  recovered  from  his  recent 
accident,  I  will  avert  the  punishment  which  the  Society 
of  The  Black  Heart  had  resolved  to  mete  out  to  him, 
on  condition  that  he  promises  to  take  the  first  available 
boat  back  to  his  own  country." 

The  novelist  concentrated  on  the  essential  fact. 

"Accident!"  he  repeated;  "has  my  uncle  met  with 
an  accident  ?" 

Benisty  smiled  reassuringly. 

"Didn't  I  say  just  now  that  I  was  happy  in  being 
able  to  relieve  your  fears?  Last  night  at  a  late  hour, 
when  motoring  to  my  chateau  at  Valcluse,  which  is 
about  twenty  miles  from  Paris,  my  chauffeur  swerved 
to  avoid  a  dark  object  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 
Stopping  the  car,  he  got  out  and  discovered  that  it 
was  the  body  of  a  man.  It  was  your  uncle,  Chertsey, 
although  how  he  came  to  be  in  that  position  I  cannot 
say.  What  happened  between  his  leaving  you  so 
mysteriously  in  the  gaming-club,  Le  Sport,  and  my 
chauffeur  picking  him  up  unconscious  from  the  middle 
of  the  lonely  road  just  this  side  of  Valcluse,  I  am  also 
ignorant,  of  course." 


BENISTY  REAPPEARS  181 

"Was  Mr.  Rinehart  badly  hurt?"  Benisty's  words, 
like  his  smile,  Chertsey  felt  were  as  false  as  hell,  but  he 
had  to  get  all  the  information  possible,  trusting  that 
some  of  it  at  least  might  be  true. 

"There  was  a  nasty  scalp  wound  on  the  back  of  his 
head  which  probably  accounted  for  your  uncle's  un- 
consciousness, but  beyond  that  the  doctor,  whom  I 
called  in  immediately  after  arriving  at  the  Chateau, 
assured  me  that  Mr.  Rinehart  was  in  otherwise  perfect 
health.  There  was  some  slight  concussion,  but  within  a 
day  or  so  this  should  disappear." 

"If  it  is  convenient  to  you,  I  should  like  to  see  my 
uncle.  He  may  prove  to  be  all  that  you  say  he  is,"  added 
Chertsey,  "but  he  has  been  very  kind  to  me  in  the  past, 
and  I  should  not  like  him  to  feel  that  I  had  neglected 
him." 

The  answer  which  Benisty  made  was  surprising. 

"I  was  about  to  suggest  that  you  should  come  back 
with  me  now,"  he  said,  before  breaking  off  at  the 
approach  of  a  waiter. 

"You  are  wanted  on  the  telephone,  Sir  Luke,"  the 
man  said. 

"You  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment,  Chertsey?" 

"Certainly."  Chertsey  was  grateful  for  the  inter- 
ruption. He  was  more  than  thankful  to  be  alone  for  a 
few  precious  moments.  It  was  impossible  to  think 
clearly  and  coherently  in  the  presence  of  this  master- 
schemer. 

Although  much  was  wrapt  in  mystery,  one  main  fact 
brought  him  consolation.  By  some  extraordinary  means 


i82  THE  BLACK  HEART 

which  he  had  yet  to  discover,  Washburn  Rinehart  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  his  arch-enemy,  but  he  was  not 
dead.  Benisty,  no  doubt,  had  him  safely  a  prisoner,  but 
his  uncle  was  still  alive.  Exerything  was  not  yet  lost. 

He  looked  round  the  beautifully- furnished  room, 
commanding  a  magnificent  view  of  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde.  Many  plots,  no  doubt,  had  been  hatched  in 
the  Hotel  Crillon,  but  surely  never  a  stranger  one  than 
this  web  of  International  intrigue  into  which  he  himself 
had  become  enmeshed.  If  he  could  only  have  shouted 
the  truth,  what  commotion  it  would  have  caused  to  this 
elegant  crowd  moving  before  him ! 

He  had  been  called  to  the  Hotel  Crillon  by  telephone 
half  an  hour  before.  Once  again  Sir  Luke  Benisty  had 
proved  himself  an  early  worker,  for  he  was  still  at 
breakfast  when  the  summons  came.  The  conversation 
had  been  brief,  but  pointed. 

"Is  that  you,  Chertsey?"  asked  a  voice  with  which 
he  had  become  familiar. 

"Yes." 

"This  is  Benisty.  I  am  at  the  Hotel  Crillon — come 
to  me  here  at  once."  The  suave  but  authoritative  voice 
had  abruptly  ceased ;  a  second  later  Chertsey  had  heard 
the  click  of  the  telephone  receiver  and  had  felt  a 
burning  wave  of  indignation. 

The  peremptoriness  of  the  fellow!  But  he  lost  no 
time  in  having  a  taxi-cab  called,  nevertheless :  the  life 
of  a  man — a  man  of  whom  he  was  very  fond  and  to 
whom  he  was  related  by  a  blood  tie — was  possibly  at 
stake.  The  conviction  came  that  Ann  Trentham  had 


BENISTY  REAPPEARS  183 

been  right  the  night  before  when  she  said  that  he  must 
wait  until  Benisty  moved,  and  so  early  as  this,  Benisty 
had  moved. 

The  Chief  of  The  Black  Heart  had  received  him 
with  his  customary  courtesy,  but  all  the  while  Chertsey 
had  realised  that  something  momentous  was  shortly  to 
take  place.  He  resolved  to  continue  to  meet  guile  with 
guile. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  everything  that  has  happened 
since  your  arrival  in  Paris,"  were  Sir  Luke  Benisty's 
first  words  after  shaking  hands. 

Chertsey  replied  quickly.  He  described  his  surprise 
at  finding  that  the  man  with  whom  he  had  been  ordered 
to  strike  up  a  friendship  was  none  other  than  his  own 
uncle,  and  went  on  to  describe  the  visit  to  Le  Sport  and 
his  distress  at  the  subsequent  disappearance  of  Wash- 
burn  Rinehart. 

It  was  then  that  Benisty  had  said  he  was  pleased  to 
be  able  to  relieve  his  fears. 

Fears !  In  spite  of  the  knowledge  that  his  uncle  was 
still  alive,  Chertsey  had  a  premonition  of  impending 
evil  as  he  saw  Benisty  returning. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  I  must  leave  you,  Chertsey.  I 
intended  to  drive  you  to  the  Chateau  in  my  car,  but 
some  vexatious  private  business  has  intervened.  No," 
he  continued,  "you  shall  not  be  deprived  of  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  your  uncle.  You  should  be  able  to  get  to  the 
Gare  du  Nord  in  twenty  minutes  in  a  taxi-cab,  and 
there  is  a  train  for  Valcluse,  at  10.15.  The  Chateau  de 
Montais,  which  I  am  renting,  is  only  a  mile  from  the 


184  THE  BLACK  HEART 

station,  you  can  walk  there  quite  easily  or  take  a 
conveyance.  The  local  doctor,  who  is  in  constant  attend- 
ance on  Mr.  Rinehart,  will  receive  you." 

Chertsey  was  about  to  turn  away  with  an  expression 
of  thanks  when  every  mental  faculty  was  made  taut  by 
a  question. 

"I  have  not  asked  you  before,  Chertsey,  but  what  has 
become  of  your  uncle's  private  effects  ?" 

Chertsey  had  prepared  himself  for  this. 

"I  had  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  when  I  returned 
to  the  hotel  last  night  after  my  uncle's  disappearance,  I 
found  his  room  in  the  wildest  confusion.  So  far  as  I 
could  tell,  nothing  was  stolen,  but  his  luggage  was 
slashed  to  pieces,  and  the  contents  of  his  travelling  cases 
strewn  about  the  floor."  He  regarded  the  man  keenly 
as  he  spoke,  but  Benisty's  face  was  inscrutable. 

"Hotel  thieves  are  notoriously  daring  in  Paris,"  was 
Benisty's  comment,  before  asking:  "Did  your  uncle 
hand  to  you  anything  of  value  before  he  left  the  hotel 
last  evening?" 

Experience  was  turning  Gilbert  Chertsey  into  a  some- 
what adept  liar,  and  his  reply  was  casualness  itself. 

"No — nothing,"  he  said. 

"I  only  ask,"  continued  Benisty,  "because  in  a  short 
fit  of  delirium  which  Mr.  Rinehart  suffered  after  being 
put  to  bed  last  night,  he  kept  repeating  something  about 
a  certain  packet.  As,  for  your  sake,  I  want  to  do  all  in 
my  power  for  your  uncle — at  least,  whilst  he  is  a  guest 
under  my  roof — I  thought  I  would  mention  the  matter 
to  you  in  order  to  relieve,  if  possible,  his  anxiety." 


BENISTY  REAPPEARS  185 

"He  must  have  been  rambling,"  replied  Chertsey. 
"Perhaps."  Sir  Luke  Benisty's  face  was  expression- 
less. 

"Shall  I  see  you  again,  Sir  Luke?" 

"I  will  keep  in  touch  with  you,"  was  the  answer. 


Chapter  XIX 
AT  THE  GARE  DU  NORD 

A~  SEVENTEEN  minutes  past  ten  o'clock  that 
morning,  a  man  who  was  unmistakably  Eng- 
lish, started  to  race  down  a  platform  of  the 
Gare  du  Nord  after  a  suburban  train,  the  tail  end  of 
which  was  already  receding.  The  chase  was  hopeless, 
and  the  French  porters  furiously  shrugged  their  should- 
ers. The  English  were  undoubtedly  a  mad  race  and 
here  was  another  example  of  it. 

Gilbert  Chertsey,  stopping  his  run,  swore  so  loudly 
that  everyone  within  a  dozen  yards  must  have  heard 
him. 

"Damn!"  he  said,  explosively,  before  turning  to  the 
nearest  porter. 

"When  is  the  next  train  to  Valcluse?"  he  asked. 

Upon  being  told  that  there  was  not  another  one  for 
an  hour  and  twenty  minutes,  he  gave  vent  to  his  feel- 
ings by  a  fresh  explosive  "damn!"  and  then  walked 
quickly  up  the  platform. 

He  carried  a  small  handbag,  such  as  a  man  might  use 
when  making  a  brief  visit  to  a  friend's  house.  After 
looking  at  his  watch,  he  walked  to  la  consigne,  handed 

1 86 


AT  THE  GARE  DU  NORD  187 

in  his  bag,  and  received  in  return  the  customary  ticket. 
That  done,  he  turned  into  a  refreshment  room  and 
seated  himself  at  the  farthest  table  from  the  door. 

It  was  not  until  everyone  in  the  room  had  left,  and 
he  had  made  sure  that  he  was  not  observed,  that 
Chertsey  pulled  out  his  fountain  pen  and  wrote  rapidly 
a  few  lines  on  a  sheet  of  plain  paper.  This,  accompanied 
by  the  ticket  he  had  just  received  for  his  handbag,  he 
placed  inside  an  especially  stout  envelope,  which  he 
addressed.  After  drinking  the  cup  of  coffee  that  he  had 
ordered,  he  left  the  room,  and  dropped  the  envelope 
into  the  nearest  station  pillar  box.  Then,  and  only  then, 
was  he  able  to  breathe  freely. 

If  so  much  had  not  been  at  issue,  he  would  have 
laughed  at  the  grotesqueness  of  his  recent  actions.  But, 
with  his  faculties  keyed  up,  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
almost  immediately  after  leaving  the  Hotel  Charles 
VII,  that  he  was  being  shadowed.  Sir  Luke  Benisty 
could  not  come  himself,  but  he  had  sent  a  substitute. 

The  problem  he  had  to  solve,  and  solve  quickly,  was 
what  he  should  do  with  the  oilskin  packet?  Two  facts 
were  abundantly  clear  to  him.  The  first  was  that  Sir 
Luke  Benisty  knew  that  Washburn  Rinehart  had  had 
in  his  possession  certain  important  documents,  and  the 
second  was  that  Benisty  was  suspicious  that  either 
Rinehart  had  passed  them  to  his  nephew,  or  that  he 
(Chertsey)  knew  where  they  were  to  be  found.  In  these 
circumstances,  it  was  impossible  to  leave  the  packet  in 
his  room — obviously,  directly  his  back  was  turned,  this 
room  would  be  systematically  searched,  in  spite  of  the 


i88  THE  BLACK  HEART 

fact  that  the  hotel  was  now  being  closely  watched  by 
the  Paris  police.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  exceedingly 
dangerous  for  him  to  be  carrying  the  packet.  For  all 
he  knew,  the  story  which  Benisty  had  told  might  be  a 
clever  concoction.  In  any  case,  he  dared  not  enter  the 
Chateau  de  Montais  with  that  oilskin  case  in  his  pos- 
session. 

It  was  just  before  the  taxi-cab  had  reached  the 
station — and  when  a  quick  glance  at  his  watch  told  him 
that  he  only  had  two  minutes  in  which  to  catch  his 
train,  that  the  idea  flashed  into  his  mind. 

He  gained  confidence  by  failing  to  see  the  man  who 
had  jumped  into  a  taxi-cab  immediately  behind  him 
after  leaving  the  hotel,  but  reflected  a  moment  later 
that  there  were  possibly  other  trailers  within  the  station 
itself. 

But  his  mind  was  made  up.  It  was  the  best  possible 
plan.  He  stayed  so  long  buying  newspapers  that  he 
knew  before  he  started  to  run  that  he  could  not  possibly 
catch  the  Valcluse  train.  Then  he  proceeded  to  put  his 
idea  into  operation.  What  more  natural  action  for  a 
man,  who  has  just  lost  one  train  and  has  eighty  minutes 
to  wait  for  another,  to  deposit  his  bag  at  the  cloakroom 
in  the  interim  ? 

The  letter  which  Chertsey  had  dropped  into  the  pillar 
box  was  addressed  to  Ann  Trentham  at  her  hotel  in  the 
rue  de  Caumartin — and  it  contained  a  railway  cloak- 
room ticket,  upon  the  custody  of  which  depended  the 
safety  of  Europe. 

At  1 1 134  a  man,  unmistakably  English,  came  racing 


AT  THE  GARE  DU  NORD  189 

down  the  suburban  platform  at  the  Gare  du  Nord.  He 
caught  the  Valcluse  train  by  the  barest  possible  margin. 

"Nom  d'une  pipe!"  ejaculated  the  watching  porters; 
"he  is  doubly  mad,  that  one !" 

The  running  passenger  was  Gilbert  Chertsey,  and  he 
did  not  carry  his  bag.  In  the  excitement  of  almost  miss- 
ing his  second  train,  he  must  have  forgotten  it. 

The  Chateau  de  Montais,  even  in  the  clear  daylight, 
was  not  prepossessing,  although  majestic.  It  stood  on  a 
lonely  height,  entirely  encircled  by  a  dense  belt  of  trees. 
!A11  around  was  a  wilderness  of  ravines  and  rocks.  When 
night  cast  its  shadows,  Chertsey,  as  he  stood  looking 
at  the  mighty  pile  of  grey  stone  which  the  peasant,  of 
whom  he  had  made  the  inquiry,  pointed  out  to  him, 
could  well  imagine  the  scene  to  be  spectral  and  unnerv- 
ing. And  it  was  here  that  his  uncle  lay  a  prisoner. 

The  winding  ancient  carriage-way  was  neglected  and 
over-run  with  weeds.  Sir  Luke  Benisty  could  not  have 
rented  the  place  for  long,  or,  surely,  he  would  have 
engaged  a  small  army  of  gardeners  to  give  the  grounds 
a  more  presentable  appearance. 

Arrived  outside  the  massive  front  entrance,  he  pulled 
the  bell.  A  dull,  heavy  clanging  sound  disturbed  the 
still  air. 

A  man  wearing  a  footman's  livery  stood  bowing. 

"Monsieur  Chertsey?"  he  asked,  and  when  the  visitor 
had  nodded,  "will  you  please  enter?  Dr.  Dupont  is 
expecting  you." 

Dr.    Dupont   proved   to   be   a   short,    stoutly-built 


i9o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

bourgeois  personage,  quite  palpably  impressed  with  the 
importance  of  having  been  called  to  the  great  Chateau. 

"My  patient,"  he  said  in  answer  to  Chertsey's  first 
inquiry,  "is  better — much  better!  The  effects  of  the 
concussion  have  practically  passed  away,  but  M.  Rine- 
hart  is  still  unconscious;  yet,  nevertheless,  I  am  happy 
to  be  able  to  give  you  the  most  reassuring  report."  He 
smiled  with  immense  self-satisfaction,  rubbing  his 
plump  hands  together. 

"Then  I  may  be  permitted  to  see  my  uncle?" 

The  doctor  bowed  again. 

"Most  assuredly — but  I  have  already  said  that  your 
uncle  is  still  unconscious.  He  will  not  be  able  to  speak 
to  you." 

"How  long  do  you  expect  this  unconsciousness  to 
last,  doctor  ?"  Many  of  Chertsey's  fears  had  returned  in 
spite  of  the  reassuring  commonplaceness  of  the  medical 
man. 

Dr.  Dupont  shrugged. 

"It  is  impossible  to  say,"  he  replied ;  "we  can  but  wait 
— and  allow  beneficent  Nature  to  work  her  magic. 
Nature  is  the  indispensable  ally  of  the  most  gifted 
physician,  Monsieur  Chertsey." 

"You  do  not  consider  my  uncle's  condition  is  serious 
in  any  way,  then  ?  Please  understand  that  I  am  naturally 
anxious." 

"You  may  calm  your  uneasiness,  Monsieur  Chertsey. 
I  pledge  you  my  professional  word  that  the  condition 
of  Monsieur  Rinehart  is  entirely  satisfactory." 

"Sir  Luke  Benisty  told  me  this  morning  that  my 


AT  THE  GARE  DU  NORD  191 

uncle's  only  casualty  was  a  wound  on  the  back  of  the 
head.  Do  you  know  how  he  sustained  this?" 

"I  regret  I  do  not.  This  neighbourhood,  unfortu- 
nately, has  been  terrorised  recently  by  a  gang  of  foot- 
pads, and  it  is  more  than  likely  that  your  uncle  was 
attacked  by  them.  Beyond  that  I  know  nothing." 

It  was  useless  to  ask  the  man  any  more  questions. 
Dupont  was  either  in  the  pay  of  Benisty  or — what 
seemed  more  likely — he  was  ignorant  of  the  real  facts. 

"Please  take  me  to  my  uncle's  room,"  the  novelist 
said. 

To  all  appearances,  Washburn  Rinehart  was  sleeping 
peacefully.  The  features  were  composed  and  his  breath- 
ing regular. 

"You  see,  monsieur,  he  is  quite  happy — although  he 
is  not  aware  of  your  presence,"  remarked  Dr.  Dupont. 

"Yes,"  answered  Chertsey,  abstractedly;  "I  wish  to 

thank  you,  doctor,  for  all  that  you  have  done.  I " 

He  stopped  suddenly ;  it  was  as  though  the  unconscious 
man  had  heard  his  voice  and  recognised  it.  Washburn 
Rinehart  moved  in  the  bed  and  his  eyes  opened  and 
became  fixed  on  his  nephew's  face. 

"Uncle!"  cried  Chertsey,  bending  over  the  bed.  He 
would  have  been  willing  to  swear  that  a  slight  gleam 
came  into  Rinehart' s  eyes,  but  he  received  no  reply  to 
the  exclamation.  And  yet — it  could  not  be  merely  a 
trick  played  by  his  mind — he  was  positive  that  his 
uncle  not  only  knew  of  his  presence — but  wished  to 
speak  to  him.  Why  was  he  unable  to  do  so? 

He  turned  swiftly  to  the  doctor. 


i92  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  cannot  believe  that  my  uncle  is  quite  unconscious," 
he  said;  "look,  he  appears  to  recognise  me!" 

"It  may  be  the  sub-conscious  working  of  a  brain- 
cell,  monsieur,"  was  the  answer,  "that  is  all.  Monsieur 
Rinehart  is  undoubtedly  unconscious.  If  he  were  nor- 
mal, do  you  not  think  he  would  speak  to  you?" 

Before  Chertsey  could  reply  to  this,  a  knock  sounded 
on  the  door.  A  moment  later,  a  man  entered  the  sick- 
room. 

"I  trust,  Chertsey,  that  Dr.  Dupont  has  been  able  to 
set  all  your  fears  at  rest  concerning  your  uncle?"  asked 
Sir  Luke  Benisty. 

The  novelist  conquered  himself.  It  would  be  fatal 
to  allow  Benisty  to  think  that  he  was  in  any  way 
suspicious. 

"Dr.  Dupont  has  been  most  kind,"  parried  Chertsey. 
He  would  have  given  everything  he  possessed  to  have 
been  able  to  read  what  was  passing  behind  Benisty's 
non-committal  eyes. 

"Then  you  can  return  to  Paris  with  a  light  heart," 
was  the  comment.  "I  can  assure  you  that  directly  your 
uncle  is  fit  to  be  moved,  he  shall  rejoin  you  at  the  Hotel 
Charles  VII.  In  the  meantime,  I  wish  you  to  return 
immediately  yourself  because  I  have  certain  work  for 
you  to  do.  My  car  is  waiting.  Permit  me.  This  way, 
please." 

Benisty  opened  a  door  on  the  left  and  held  it  for 
Chertsey  to  pass  through.  The  novelist's  misgivings 
were  many,  but  he  felt  that  this  was  no  time  to  give 
expression  to  them.  Once  back  in  Paris,  he  would  go 


AT  THE  GARE  DU  NORD  193 

straight  to  the  American  Embassy,  and  state,  without 
betraying  his  oath  to  Benisty,  where  the  injured  Wash- 
burn  could  be  found.  And,  what  was  more,  he  was  go- 
ing to  take  a  hand  himself  in  any  subsequent  proceedings. 

Down  a  huge  winding  main  staircase  which,  even  at 
that  daylight  hour,  was  peopled  with  shadows,  the  two 
men  went.  At  the  bottom,  Sir  Luke  Benisty  opened 
another  door. 

"This  is  my  workroom,"  he  announced ;  "we  will  have 
five  minutes'  talk  before  you  leave.  Take  that  easy  chair 
over  there  by  the  table,  my  dear  fellow ;  I  will  join  you 
almost  immediately." 

Chertsey,  after  hesitating  momentarily,  walked  across 
the  floor.  What  were  these  fresh  instructions  he  was 
about  to  be  given? 

This  huge,  book-lined  room,  smelling  fusty  from 
damp  and  desuetude,  was  evidently  the  Chateau  library. 
The  vast  apartment  was  chilling  even  though  he  wore 
his  overcoat.  Looking  at  the  fireless  hearth,  he  shivered. 

What  was  Benisty  doing?  Why  didn't  he  come? 

He  leaned  forward  in  the  leather  easy  chair  and 
looked  towards  the  door.  Sir  Luke  Benisty  had  a  hand 
and  arm  concealed.  He  was  smiling  devilishly. 

Too  late  Chertsey  attempted  to  spring  up.  There  was 
a  harsh,  grating  sound — and  he  felt  himself  falling  into 
space.  Still  seated  in  the  chair,  he  sank  into  what 
seemed  a  bottomless  pit.  The  rapidity  of  his  descent 
threatened  to  choke  his  lungs. 

Then  came  a  crash  that  sounded  as  though  the  end 
of  the  world  had  come,  and  after  that — oblivion. 


Chapter  XX 
RINEHART  AWAKENS 

Tt    >TR.  WASHBURN  RINEHART  blinked  his 

|%/l    eyes    several    times    before   he    could   really 

•*••-*•  assure  himself  that  he  was  not  still  in  that 

curious  dream-state  from  which  he  had  just  emerged. 

He  was  in  bed — but  this  was  certainly  not  his  room 
at  the  Hotel  Charles  VII.  This  apartment  was  smaller, 
was  differently  shaped  and  the  furniture  was  entirely 
strange. 

He  had  other  curious  impressions.  The  first  was  that 
he  felt  very  weak — so  weak  that,  although  he  wished 
to  get  out  of  bed,  he  felt  unable  to  do  so:  the  effort 
would  be  too  much.  The  second  impression  was  that  his 
head  must  have  grown  to  several  times  its  normal  size 
— and  it  ached  abominably.  Rinehart  put  up  a  hand  and 
felt  a  bandage  that  commenced  on  his  forehead  and 
continued  round  to  the  back  of  his  skull. 

What  the  devil ? 

And  then  he  remembered:  in  a  succession  of  vivid 
scenes  the  events  of  the  immediate  past  became  unrolled ; 
it  was  like  the  experience  of  watching  a  film  of  sensa- 
tional character. 

194 


RINEHART  AWAKENS  195 

The  following  five  minutes  was  an  exceedingly  un- 
pleasant time  for  Washburn  Rinehart.  The  first  fact 
that  burst  upon  his  consciousness  with  stunning  force 
was  that  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  enemies.  That 
false  swine,  Rene  de  Guichard!  He  had  been  the  tool 
employed.  When  he  got  away  from  this  place — wher- 
ever it  was — he  would  acquaint  the  American  Embassy 
with  the  true  character  of  this  particular  specimen  of 
the  French  aristocracy. 

It  was  easy  to  recall  everything — painfully  easy !  He 
had  been  standing  at  Gilbert's  side  in  the  baccarat  room 
at  Le  Sport  when  de  Guichard  made  him  a  sign.  Not 
wishing  to  break  in  upon  his  nephew's  pleasure — no 
doubt,  Gilbert  was  memorising  the  dramatic  scene  for 
later  professional  use — he  had  moved  quietly  aside. 

Away  from  the  throng,  de  Guichard  took  his  arm. 

"Your  Ambassador  has  rung  up,  Monsieur  Rine- 
hart," said  the  Count ;  "he  left  a  message  with  me ;  he 
wishes  to  see  you  immediately  at  the  Embassy." 

He  had  not  been  suspicious  for  two  very  sufficient 
reasons.  The  first  was  that  he  was  hourly  expecting  a 
summons  from  the  American  Ambassador  in  Paris,  and 
the  second  was  that  he  knew  de  Guichard  to  be  a  close 
friend  of  Hector  Morrison. 

"Very  well,"  he  had  replied;  "it's  a  nuisance  because 
I  was  enjoying  myself  here  splendidly.  But  I  must 
inform  my  nephew." 

M.  le  Comte  raised  a  hand. 

"Permit  me  to  do  you  that  service,"  he  urged.  "I  will 
give  Monsieur  Chertsey  any  message.  And,  pardon  me, 


196  THE  BLACK  HEART 

but  Monsieur  Morrison  asked  that  you  should  go  to 
him  at  once." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  cloakroom  and  an 
attendant,  at  a  sign  from  the  Count,  had  handed  Rine- 
hart  his  overcoat,  hat,  stick,  gloves  and  white  evening 
scarf. 

"That's  very  good  of  you,"  the  American  replied; 
"I  don't  want  to  be  a  spoil-sport  and  Chertsey  is  having 
a  thoroughly  good  time  here — thanks  to  you.  My 
nephew  is  a  novelist  and " 

"He  is  always  looking  for  'local  colour,'  "  supplied 
the  other,  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth;  "well,  he  should 
find  it  here.  Permit  me  to  have  a  taxi-cab  called, 
monsieur." 

The  man  in  bed  ground  his  teeth.  What  a  scoundrel 
that  hound  of  a  Frenchman  had  proved! 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  my  nephew  how  sorry  I  am  to 
have  been  forced  to  rush  away  like  this?"  he  remem- 
bered saying  to  de  Guichard;  "if  I  am  not  back  here 
within  an  hour,  I  shall  return  to  the  hotel." 

"I  will  tell  Monsieur  Chertsey  immediately,"  had 
been  the  reply;  "and,  of  course,  I  will  make  myself 
responsible  for  the  entertainment  of  your  nephew  whilst 
he  remains  in  the  Club." 

"I  am  much  obliged,"  he  had  answered. 

He  had  not  been  in  the  taxi-cab  many  minutes  before 
he  became  vaguely  uneasy ;  the  driver  was  either  taking 
a  very  roundabout  route  to  the  Embassy,  or  he  was 
going  in  an  entirely  different  direction. 


RINEHART  AWAKENS  197 

When  he  rapped  the  window  to  attract  his  attention, 
the  man,  already  driving  recklessly,  increased  his  mad 
speed.  In  a  narrow  thoroughfare  the  name  of  which  he 
had  not  recognised,  the  cab  momentarily  slowed  down, 
and  he  had  seized  the  opportunity  to  open  the  window. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  not  stopping?"  he 
had  demanded. 

The  taxi  was  now  proceeding  at  a  mere  snail's  pace. 
The  driver  not  replying  to  his  question,  he  leaned 
farther  out  of  the  window  of  the  cab  and  endeavoured 
to  touch  the  man's  shoulder. 

Before  he  could  do  so,  however,  the  door  on  the  other 
side  had  opened.  The  next  moment  he  had  felt  himself 
seized  violently,  from  behind,  a  woollen  scarf  which 
smelt  atrociously  had  been  thrust  over  his  face  and  a 
crashing  blow  descended  on  the  back  of  his  head. 

He  had  remembered  nothing  clearly  between  that  and 
the  moment  of  his  recent  awakening.  There  had  inter- 
vened a  peculiar  dream-state,  in  which  he  had  exper- 
ienced— or  imagined? — many  curious  sensations.  One 
of  these  was  that  his  nephew,  Gilbert  Chertsey,  had 
come  to  see  him,  that  he  had  recognised  him,  and  had 
wanted  to  speak,  but  was  not  able  to  do  so. 

What  the  thunder  was  the  meaning  of  this  mystery? 

He  sat  up,  but  the  weakness  in  his  limbs  was  dis- 
turbing. For  the  present  he  would  be  unable  to  leave 
this  place  unassisted. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  man  walked  towards  the 
bed.  Instantly  Washburn  Rinehart  recognised  him.  This 
man  had  been  one  of  the  persons  playing  a  part  in  the 


i98  THE  BLACK  HEART 

dream-state  through  which  he  had  recently  passed.  He 
was  a  thin,  insignificant,  pale  shadow  of  a  man. 

"I  say "  started  Rinehart,  when  the  man  held  up 

a  finger  in  warning. 

"You  must  not  excite  yourself,  Monsieur  Rinehart. 
You  have  met  with  an  accident,  and  are  still  very  ill.  It 
is  inadvisable  for  you  to  talk." 

Rinehart  exploded. 

"Talk !"  he  exclaimed ;  "don't  be  a  fool !  I  must  talk ! 
Where  am  I — and  who  are  you  ?" 

The  pale  shadow  of  a  man  remained  imperturbed. 

"I  am  Dr.  Thibau,  a  Paris  specialist,"  he  replied; 
"this  is  the  Chateau  de  Montais,  at  Valcluse,  twenty 
miles  from  Paris.  It  is  owned  by  M.  le  Comte  Rene  de 
Guichard." 

De  Guichard  again !  But  he  must  keep  calm.  He  was 
gaining  valuable  information  from  this  phantom  of  a 
man. 

"How  did  I  get  here?"  he  asked.  "The  last  thing  I 
remember  was  being  attacked  in  a  narrow  street  in  Paris 
late  last  night,  when  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  American 
Embassy.  My  friends  there — very  influential  friends 
they  are — will  be  making  inquiries  for  me."  He  watched 
the  other  closely  to  see  if  the  words  had  any  effect,  but 
the  listener  remained  as  imperturbable  as  before. 

"You  were  discovered  lying  unconscious  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road  just  outside  Valcluse,"  he  answered. 
"The  English  gentleman,  who  is  now  renting  the 
Chateau,  was  motoring  home.  He  stopped  the  car  and 
had  you  brought  here.  The  local  doctor  was  called  in  at 


RINEHART  AWAKENS  199 

once,  but  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  I  was  summoned  by 
telephone  from  Paris." 

"I  must  say  it  was  very  kind  of  this  gentleman — 
what's  his  name?" 

"Sir  Luke  Benisty." 

A  quiver  that  was  caused  by  something  more  than 
excitement  passed  through  Rinehart.  His  first  impres- 
sions had  been  correct;  it  was  into  the  hands  of  an 
enemy — the  most  deadly  and  dangerous  man  in  Europe 
• — that  he  had  fallen. 

He  looked  at  the  pale  face  of  the  self-proclaimed 
Paris  specialist  and  found  himself  hating  the  man. 

"How  long  have  I  been  here?" 

"Exactly  forty-eight  hours.  When  found,  you  were 
suffering  from  a  bad  wound  on  the  back  of  the  head. 
This  induced  concussion  and  unconsciousness — but  you 
are  making  rapid  progress." 

The  patient  contented  himself  with  nodding.  He  was 
doing  some  hard  thinking  and  what  the  other  told  him 
was  merely  a  side-issue.  The  main  fact  was  that  this 
place  belonged  to  the  man  whose  malignant  scheming 
in  the  underground  channels  of  European  politics  he 
had  been  sent  from  America  to  denounce  to  the  Gov- 
ernments of  Great  Britain  and  France.  And  that 
Benisty,  the  renegade  Englishman,  knew  his  true 
identity,  was  proved  by  this  washed-out  doctor — if  he 
was  a  doctor — calling  him  by  his  real  name. 

"Where  is  Sir  Luke  Benisty?  I  should  like  to  thank 
him."  Better  a  fight  with  the  gloves  off  than  this 
sparring  in  the  dark. 


200  THE  BLACK  H  EART 

"I  will  inform  Sir  Luke."  He  bowed  and  left  the 
room.  As  the  door  closed,  Rinehart  heard  a  click.  He 
was  locked  in  without  a  doubt. 

With  the  man  gone,  he  made  another  effort  to  get 
out  of  bed.  A  very  real  fear  attacked  him  as  he  found 
that  the  incomprehensible  weakness  in  his  limbs  could 
not  be  overcome.  Forty-eight  hours  of  lying  in  bed 
could  not  of  itself  account  for  this  peculiar  lassitude. 

It  was  useless  to  waste  time  in  self-revilement. 
Directly  this  man  Benisty  appeared  he  would  demand 
from  him  certain  things.  The  first  was  that  he  should 
be  placed  in  instant  telephonic  touch  with  his  nephew, 
Gilbert  Chertsey.  The  boy,  no  doubt,  was  in  a  state  of 
distraction  owing  to  his  disappearance. 

The  door  opened. 

Rinehart,  even  if  he  had  not  guessed  his  identity, 
would  have  been  interested  in  the  man  who  walked  into 
the  room.  This  International  plotter  bore  unmistakable 
marks  of  distinction:  he  had  an  "air."  The  American 
envoy  noticed  that  Sir  Luke  Benisty  was  tall,  im- 
maculately groomed,  and  that,  in  spite  of  his  supposed 
pure  British  descent,  there  were  traces  of  an  Oriental 
strain  in  him.  The  man's  movements  alone  furnished 
proof  of  this;  he  glided  with  an  incomparable  grace 
rather  than  walked.  What  was  more,  he  was  a  man  who 
smiled  only  with  his  lips  and  not  with  his  eyes. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  gracious  than  the 
manner  in  which  he  spoke. 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  from  Dr.  Thibau,  the  Paris 
specialist,  that  you  are  so  much  better,  my  dear  Mr. 


RINEHART  AWAKENS  201 

Rinehart,"  he  said;  "may  I  assure  you  myself  that  this 
Chateau  and  everyone  in  it  are  entirely  at  your  service?" 

In  spite  of  the  caution  he  knew  was  necessary,  the 
American's  voice  was  a  trifle  harsh  as  he  replied. 

"If  you  are  Sir  Luke  Benisty " — the  other 

bowed — "I  am  very  much  indebted  to  you  for  your 
kindness.  That  doctor-man  you  call  Thibau  assures  you 
that  I  am  getting  on  fine,  eh?" 

"I  am  very  pleased  to  say  that  he  gives  a  most 
favourable  report  of  your  condition,  Mr.  Rinehart." 

"Well,  if  that's  so,  I  should  like  to  know  how  he 
accounts  for  the  fact  that,  although  according  to  his 
statement  I  have  only  been  laid  up  for  forty-eight 
hours,  I  feel  so  weak  that  I  cannot  even  get  out  of  bed. 
I  know  what  I  am  talking  about,"  he  added,  truculently, 
"because  I  have  made  three  separate  attempts  and  have 
had  to  abandon  each." 

Sir  Luke  Benisty's  face  wore  an  expression  of  com- 
miseration. 

"You  need  not  be  alarmed  about  that,  Mr.  Rinehart. 
You  may  have  every  confidence  in  Thibau,  who  has 
expressed  to  me  his  satisfaction  in  your  condition.  I 
will  mention  your  complaint  to  him,  however." 

"Please  do.  I  need  scarcely  add  that  I  am  not  anxious 
to  intrude  upon  your  very  kind  hospitality  a  moment 
longer  than  is  necessary." 

"I  assure  you,  Mr.  Rinehart,  it  has  been  a  real 
pleasure  to  me  to  have  the  opportunity  of  playing,  in 
however  slight  a  degree,  the  Good  Samaritan." 

"Nevertheless,  I  wish  to  leave  the  Chateau  at  the 


202  THE  BLACK  HEART 

earliest  possible  moment.  Well,  or  ill,  I  must  be  in  Paris 
as  quickly  as  conveyance  can  take  me.  Will  you  please 
telephone  the  Hotel  Charles  VII  and  ask  for  Mr.  Gil- 
bert Chertsey  ?  He  is  my  nephew  and  I  wish  to  speak  to 
him." 

His  host  looked  pained. 

"I  will  certainly  ring  up  the  hotel,  and  you  can  com- 
mand me  in  any  other  way  you  please,  Mr.  Rinehart, 
but  I  am  quite  certain  that,  in  your  own  interests,  Dr. 
Thibau  will  not  sanction  you  leaving  the  Chateau  so — 
shall  I  say,  precipitately?  You  must  remember  that 
those  footpads " 

"Footpads?"  Rinehart's  voice  was  sharper. 

"Who  else  could  have  been  responsible  for  your  un- 
fortunate condition?  When  my  chauffeur  and  I  picked 
you  up  a  mile  from  here  along  the  Valcluse  road,  at  five 
minutes  past  twelve  the  night  before  last,  your  clothes 
were  torn  and  your  pockets  picked  clean.  Who  else  but 
footpads  could  have  done  such  a  thing?" 

"Well,  let  it  go  that  they  were  footpads.  That 
doesn't  alter  my  decision  to  get  to  Paris  with  the  least 
possible  delay.  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Sir  Luke,  but 
I  am  also  very  determined.  If  this  Thibau  man  doesn't 
give  his  sanction,  I  must  dispense  with  it.  And  now 
if  you  will  kindly  do  that  telephoning,  I  will  try  once 
again  to  get  up  and  dress." 

His  host  bowed. 

"I  should  hate  to  feel  that  you  remained  my  guest 
against  your  will,"  he  said,  coldly,  turning  to  the  door. 

Directly  he  was  alone,  Rinehart  made  his   fourth 


RINEHART  AWAKENS  203 

attempt  to  get  up.  He  swore  in  baffled  rage  upon  find- 
ing that  the  strange  lassitude  of  which  he  had  com- 
plained still  gripped  him.  Was  he  paralysed?  So  much 
strength  had  gone  from  his  legs  that  he  could  scarcely 
move  them  In  the  bed. 

It  was  an  intolerable  position,  and  his  face  became 
bathed  in  perspiration  as  he  realised  its  true  significance. 
To  all  intents  and  purposes  he  was  a  prisoner.  The 
whole  thing,  no  doubt,  had  been  subtly  planned.  If  he 
had  listened  to  Gilbert  .  .  .  but  the  papers  were  safe, 
at  any  rate:  at  least,  they  hadn't  been  on  him  at  the 
time  he  was  attacked.  If  Gilbert  had  any  sense,  he  would 
immediately  put  them  in  a  safe  place  after  the  remark 
he  had  made  to  him  before  leaving  for  Le  Sport. 

His  further  reflections  were  cut  short  by  the  return 
of  the  man  who  posed  as  his  host,  but  was  really  his 
jailer.  Benisty  was  accompanied  by  the  so-called  Paris 
specialist. 

"I  have  put  in  a  telephone  call  to  the  Hotel  Charles 
VII,"  stated  Benisty,  "and  when  I  get  connection,  I 
will  inquire  for  your  nephew.  I  should  explain,  how- 
ever, that  Mr.  Chertsey  was  not  only  informed  im- 
mediately of  you  being  here,  but  that  he  actually  came 
to  the  Chateau  yesterday.  He  was  shown  into  this  room 
by  Dr.  Dupont,  the  local  medical  man,  who  has  been 
treating  you  under  the  supervision  of  Dr.  Thibau,  but 
as  you  were  still  unconscious  he  was  not  able  to  speak 
to  you." 

Rinehart  frowned.  How  did  Benisty  know  Gilbert? 
|Ie  did  not  like  the  thought. 


204  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"Who  informed  my  nephew?" 

"Le  Comte  Rene  de  Guichard  is  the  owner  of  this 
Chateau.  I  am  renting  it  from  him.  When  you  were 
brought  here  two  nights  ago,  your  identity  was  revealed 
by  a  visiting  card — the  only  thing  the  thieves  had  left — 
and  when  I  rang  up  de  Guichard  at  his  Club  for  him  to 
recommend  a  doctor,  he  told  me  he  was  greatly  dis- 
tressed because  an  American  guest  of  his,  a  Mr.  Wash- 
burn  Rinehart,  had  disappeared  unaccountably  that 
evening  after  leaving  his  Club,  Le  Sport.  De  Guichard 
added  that  he  had  received  from  his  friend,  the  Ameri- 
can Ambassador,  some  time  earlier,  a  message  asking 
for  this  Mr.  Rinehart  to  go  to  the  Embassy  at  once. 
Can  you  remember,"  the  speaker  broke  off,  "exactly 
where  you  were  attacked  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Rinehart,  curtly ;  "so  it  was  de  Guich- 
ard who  informed  my  nephew.  I  must  thank  him  for 
that."  He  resolved  mentally  to  let  his  gratitude  take 
an  unexpected  form. 

Benisty  remained  silent,  but  Thibau  now  took  the 
stage. 

"Sir  Luke  has  informed  me,"  he  said  in  perfect  Eng- 
lish, "that  you  wish  to  return  to  Paris  immediately." 

"I  do." 

"I  regret  that  in  your  present  weak  condition,  I 
cannot  sanction  you  being  moved.  Monsieur  Chertsey, 
when  he  comes,  must  act  upon  his  own  responsibility." 

Before  Rinehart  could  reply,  Sir  Luke  Benisty  broke 
in. 


RINEHART  AWAKENS  205 

"Doctor,"  he  remarked  to  Thibau,  "Mr.  Rinehart's 
bandage  has  slipped." 

"Pardon!  Permit  me,  M'sieur."  Thibau  hurried  to 
the  bed. 

He  re-arranged  the  bandage,  and  then  felt  for  the 
patient's  right  wrist.  "Let  me  see  what  your  pulse  is 
now,  M'sieur." 

The  grip  which  the  man  used  was  like  a  steel  vice. 
Helpless  to  move  through  his  weakness,  Rinehart  felt 
his  skin  punctured  by  a  sharp  prick. 

An  hypodermic  needle !  .  .  .  They  had  drugged  him 
again ! 

He  tried  to  clasp  Thibau  by  the  throat  with  his  free 
hand,  but,  with  startling  rapidity,  an  overwhelming 
nausea  seized  him,  and  everything  swam  blackly  be- 
fore his  eyes.  Like  a  blown-out  candle,  consciousness 
went  from  him. 


Chapter  XXI 
THE  CLOAKROOM  TICKET 

AN  TRENTHAM,   before   she  read   the  note 
the  second  time,  made  sure  that  the  door  was 
securely  fastened.  Since  that  attack  two  nights 
previously,  she  had  scarcely  stirred  out  of  the  hotel,  and, 
apart  from  meals,  had  stayed  mainly  in  her  own  room. 
She  had  recognised  the  writing  on  the  stout  en- 
velope instantly — this  was  the  second  letter   Gilbert 
Chertsey  had  sent  her — and,  feeling  positive  that  it  was 
an  important  message,  she  went  straight  to  her  room 
before  opening  the  letter. 

Now,  with  the  single  sheet  of  paper  tightly  held,  she 
looked  straight  at  the  opposite  wall,  whirled  out  of  her 
immediate  surroundings  by  the  words  Chertsey  had 
written : 

"Ann"  (the  note  ran), 

"I  am  sending  you  this  ticket  because  I  dare  not 
have  it  on  me  where  I  am  going.  It  is  a  receipt  for  a 
small  bag  which  I  have  deposited  at  the  Consigne  at 
the  Gare  du  Nord.  There  is  an  oilskin  packet  in  the 
bag,  containing  papers  of  the  most  tremendous  im- 
206 


THE  CLOAKROOM  TICKET          207 

parlance.  L.  B.  and  his  crowd  must  not  get  th?.se.  I 
am  sending  you  this  ticket  in  case  anything  should 
happen  to  me. 

"In  great  haste, 

"Gilbert." 

Now  that  the  first  shock  of  surprise  had  passed,  she 
read  the  lines  a  third  time  more  calmly.  The  phrase- 
ology was  that  of  a  man  rendered  almost  incoherent 
by  anxiety.  No  address  was  given,  and  the  handwrit- 
ing was  scarcely  legible.  Chertsey  must  have  been  very 
mentally  disturbed  when  he  wrote. 

She  placed  the  commonplace  cloakroom  ticket  away 
safely  in  her  purse,  before  deciding  what  action  she 
should  take.  The  natural  thing  would  be  for  her  merely 
to  keep  the  thing  safe  until  Chertsey  returned  to  claim 
it.  But  a  phrase  burned  itself  with  vivid  relentlessness 
into  her  brain :  ".  .  .  in  case  anything  should  happen 
to  me." 

Why  had  he  not  told  her  where  he  was  going?  Was 
it  in  pursuit  of  his  uncle,  the  American  envoy,  Wash- 
burn  Rinehart?  If  so,  why  had  he  not  said  so  in  his 
letter?  Then,  looking  at  the  hurried  scrawl  again,  she 
realised  that  Chertsey,  in  his  desperate  haste,  had  con- 
centrated on  the  one  important  matter — the  safe  custody 
of  the  ticket. 

Her  mind  ran  swiftly  on.  "L.  B."  was  Sir  Luke 
Benisty,  of  course;  and  the  papers  "of  tremendous 
importance"  probably  dealt  with  the  complex  Inter- 
national situation  existing  in  European  politics,  and 


2o8  THE  BLACK  HEART 

concerning,  possibly,  the  giant  conspiracy  she  was  out 
to  defeat.  She  would  assuredly  see  that  her  enemy 
did  not  obtain  possession  of  them. 

But,  with  the  resolution,  came  a  haunting  dread, 
a  terrible  fear :  if  Chertsey  had  been  observed  deposit- 
ing his  bag  at  the  cloakroom,  the  watcher  would  im- 
mediately report  the  fact  to  Benisty,  and  the  latter  with 
that  subtle,  scheming,  Oriental  brain  of  his,  would  in- 
stantly guess  at  the  truth.  It  was  certain  that  he  would 
take  immediate  steps  to  obtain  possession  of  the  bag. 
It  should  not  be  difficult,  seeing  that  he  and  Sylvester 
Lade — who  was  also  in  Paris — could  employ  between 
them  some  of  the  most  dangerous  criminals  in  the 
French  capital. 

She  must  get  that  bag  herself! 

Ann  took  a  very  careful  survey  before  she  walked 
across  to  the  Consigne.  The  big  departure  station  was 
crowded,  as  usual,  and  she  might  easily  be  watched; 
detectives  were  often  interested  in  people  who  claimed 
luggage  from  the  railway-station  cloakrooms,  and 
crooks  shared  this  taste.  It  was  possible  that  she  might 
have  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  both,  for  Benisty,  with  his 
freakish  mind,  had  possibly  lodged  a  complaint  with 
the  police  as  well  as  instructing  his  creatures. 

Yet  she  had  to  take  the  risk,  she  decided,  and,  wait- 
ing until  there  was  no  one  near  the  cloakroom,  she 
walked  quickly  up  to  the  attendant.  The  latter  took  the 
ticket,  which  she  handed  him,  and  went  away  in  search 
of  the  article  to  be  claimed. 


THE  CLOAKROOM  TICKET          209 

"Merci,  m'selle,"  he  smiled,  as  Ann  gave  him  two 
francs  tip. 

"Pardon,"  said  a  voice  behind  the  girl,  "but  that  bag 
belongs  to  me!  I  dropped  the  ticket  just  now,  and  I 
saw  this  lady  pick  it  up.  She  is  a  thief!"  The  man's 
French  was  cultured.  He  was  furiously  angry. 

Ann  wheeled.  She  saw  a  man  dressed  in  the  height 
of  fashion,  and  who  had  every  appearance  of  being  a 
gentleman.  It  was  a  cunning  move — a  gendarme  would 
be  called,  the  charge  of  theft  repeated  and  she  would  be 
arrested.  The  man,  in  the  confusion  and  excitement, 
would  seize  the  bag  and  disappear  amongst  the  crowd. 

"You  are  lying,"  she  retorted;  "this  bag  never  be- 
longed to  you.  You  look  like  a  gentleman,  but  you  are 
a  crook !"  By  this  time  a  crowd  had  gathered;  and,  with 
a  Paris  crowd's  infallible  sympathy  for  a  pretty  woman, 
the  throng  commenced  to  mutter  darkly. 

The  man  refused  to  be  alarmed,  however.  He  looked 
round,  presumably  seeking  a  gendarme. 

"I  repeat  that  the  bag  belongs  to  me,  m'selle,"  he 
said ;  "I  regret  to  have  to  make  a  charge  against  one  so 
charming,  but  the  ticket  with  which  you  have  just 
claimed  the  bag  dropped  from  my  pocket-book  a  few 
moments  ago,  and  you  were  seen  to  pick  it  up.  I  do  not 
know  what  purpose  you  have  in  endeavouring  to  obtain 
possession  of  property  which  does  not  belong  to  you, 
but  I  must  insist  upon  you  handing  over  that  bag  im- 
mediately." 

"Pardon,  messieurs  and  you,  mademoiselle,"  broke 
in  another  voice;  "I  am  from  the  Surete — Inspector 


2io  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Levaigne.  Will  you  please  tell  me  what  is  happening 
here?" 

The  accuser  pointed  to  Ann  Trentham. 

"I  charge  m'selle  here  with  trying  to  steal  that  bag 
which  belongs  to  me." 

"And  your  answer  to  this  serious  charge,  m'selle?" 
inquired  the  Inspector,  who  had  materialised  so  quickly. 

"It  is  a  lie !  The  bag  belongs  to  me." 

"Yet,"  persisted  the  police-officer,  very  gravely, 
"this  is  such  a  serious  matter  that  I  am  forced  to  take 
you  into  custody."  He  reached  forward  and  caught  the 
girl's  arm. 

"Bien!"  commented  the  accuser,  "I  will  call  at  the 
station  later  and  prefer  the  charge.  In  the  meantime, 
Inspector,  I  am  in  a  great  hurry.  There  is  an  appoint- 
ment— of  the  most  urgent  nature,  you  understand? — 
that  I  have  to  keep.  Please  be  kind  enough  to  hand  me 
the  bag." 

The  Surete  Inspector  shook  his  head. 

"That  is  impossible,  I  regret,  monsieur.  The  bag 
must  be  taken  to  police  headquarters  along  with 
m'selle." 

The  thwarted  man  attempted  to  bar  the  way. 

"But  this  is  intolerable !  The  bag  is  mine,  and  I  de- 
mand again  that  it  be  handed  over  to  me !" 

"The  law  must  come  before  your  private  wishes,  I 
am  afraid,  m'sieur,"  was  the  firm  response.  "You  are 
at  liberty  to  come  to  the  station  now  and  prefer  the 
charge  in  person." 

For  reply  the  other,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  rage, 


THE  CLOAKROOM  TICKET          211 

lunged  forward.  His  right  hand,  holding  something 
bright,  was  uplifted  to  strike. 

Nemesis  came  swiftly;  quicker  than  the  eye  could 
follow,  the  Inspector  had  darted  under  his  guard  and 
dealt  him  a  crashing  blow  on  the  chin.  The  man  stag- 
gered back  as  though  he  had  been  struck  by  a  hammer. 

"Come,  m'selle!"  said  Inspector  Levaigne.  His  tone 
was  so  peremptory  that  the  crowd  melted  before  him. 
It  was  noticed  that  in  his  right  hand  he  carried  the 
small  leather  bag,  over  the  disputed  ownership  of 
which  there  had  been  so  much  commotion. 

The  Inspector  signalled  a  taxi-cab,  and,  with  his 
captive,  was  driven  rapidly  away. 

Ann  Trentham  turned  to  face  him.  There  was  a  flush 
in  her  cheeks. 

"That  was  the  coolest  thing  I  have  ever  seen  done !" 
she  declared;  "are  you  a  magician?" 

Napoleon  Miles  quietly  laughed. 

"Not  guilty,  Miss  Trentham!  There  is  nothing  of 
the  wizard  about  me.  When  we  get  to  a  quiet  place 
where  we  don't  stand  much  chance  of  being  inter- 
rupted— or  overheard — I  will  explain  the  mystery. 
There  is  a  strong  possibility  of  our  being  followed — 
our  friend  behind  is  rather  pertinacious,  I  am  afraid 
— so,  if  you  will  excuse  me  a  moment,  I  will  give  the 
driver  some  fresh  instructions." 

It  was  not  until  forty  minutes  had  passed,  during 
which  time  the  taxi-cab  performed  amazing  zig-zags, 
that  the  vehicle  stopped. 

"This  is  the  inconspicuous  street  in  Montparnasse, 


212  THE  BLACK  HEART 

where  I  am  established  at  present,"  explained  Miles. 
"I  thought  it  better  to  stop  here  than  at  your  hotel. 
Will  you  come  up  to  my  rooms  for  a  few  minutes, 
Miss  Trentham?"  The  speaker's  voice  was  serious. 

When  the  girl  was  seated  in  a  small  room  on  the 
second  floor  of  this  very  unpretentious  house  in  the 
heart  of  the  old  Latin  Quartier,  the  man  who  had 
rescued  her  with  such  coolness  from  an  exceedingly 
awkward  situation,  proclaimed  himself. 

"We  are  allies,  Miss  Trentham,"  he  said;  "and  the 
time  has  come  for  me  to  show  my  confidence  in  you. 
These  are  my  credentials."  He  handed  over  a  num- 
ber of  papers  which  Ann  studied  intently  before  pass- 
ing them  back. 

"I  had  an  idea  that  you  were  in  the  United  States 
Secret  Service,"  she  remarked.  "As  you  say,  Mr.  Miles, 
we  are  allies — and  I'm  glad,  because  I  should  not  like 
for  you  to  be — on  the  other  side." 

"You  mean  Sir  Luke  Benisty  and  his  crowd."  Miles' 
face  had  not  lost  its  grimness  in  spite  of  the  compli- 
ment he  had  been  paid.  "They  have  gained  several  im- 
portant tricks,  but,  as  luck  would  have  it,  they  just 
failed  to  gain  the  best  of  all."  He  pointed  to  the  bag 
which  was  on  a  chair. 

Ann  nodded. 

"Let  us  exchange  confidences,"  she  said.  "I  am  not 
connected  with  any  official  service  in  England — I  am 
just  a  free-lance — but,  all  the  same,  I  have  been  work- 
ing on  this  thing  for  a  long  time  now,  and  I  have  cer- 
tain valuable  information." 


THE  CLOAKROOM  TICKET          213 

"Tell  me  all  you  know,"  urged  Miles. 

"Sir  Luke  Benisty  is  the  head  of  a  highly-organised 
society  of  crooks,  blackmailers  and  others,  which 
specialises  in  stealing  and  selling  International  Secrets. 
Benisty  has  become  a  millionaire  in  the  process.  He  has 
as  one  of  his  principal  associates  in  the  British  group, 
Sylvester  Lade.  Another  worker  in  the  same  field  is  a 
man  named  Barrington  Snell,  equally  repulsive,  but 
not  nearly  so  important  from  our  point  of  view. 

"The  trading  in  International  Secrets  started  this 
Organisation  which  Benisty,  perhaps  because  of  a 
twisted  sense  of  humour,  calls  The  Black  Heart,  but 
out  of  this  developed  a  sinister  and  gigantic  con- 
spiracy  " 

"You  mean  the  alliance  between  Russia  and  Ger- 
many, which  had  as  its  purpose  the  turning  of  the 
whole  of  Europe  into  a  madhouse,"  supplied  her  lis- 
tener. 

"Yes.  Exactly  what  will  happen  if  this  conspiracy 
is  not  squashed,  I  do  not  know,  but  it  will  certainly 
mean  England  being  engaged  in  her  greatest  war.  It  is 
the  ruin  of  his  country  which  is  Sir  Luke  Benisty's 
ambition :  he  used  to  be  employed  in  the  British  Foreign 
Office,  but  was  dismissed.  That  was  several  years  ago, 
but  he  has  never  forgotten.  Mr.  Miles,"  anxiously, 
"what  did  you  mean  just  now  when  you  said  Benisty 
had  won  several  important  tricks  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  face  so  grave  that  inwardly 
she  trembled. 

"America  was  invited  to  come  into  this  conspiracy, 


2i4  THE  BLACK  HEART 

as  you  have  called  it,  Miss  Trentham.  There  are  seven 
men  who  practically  control  Wall  Street  and  the 
United  States  money-markets.  Four  are  German  Jews, 
and  their  sympathies  were  with  the  plotters.  Two  others 
are  wavering.  The  seventh — Aaron  Gumpter — said 
'No.'  I  do  not  want  to  frighten  you,  but  I  have  just 
had  a  private  cable  to  the  effect  that  Gumpter  was 
found  with  a  bullet  through  his  heart  in  his  library 
yesterday  morning." 

"Murdered?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

Napoleon  Miles  threw  away  the  cigarette  he  had 
been  smoking. 

"Have  you  heard  of  a  man  named  Washburn  Rine- 
hart?"  he  asked. 

Ann  gave  a  cry. 

"Yes.  He  is  Gilbert  Chertsey's  uncle — you  remem- 
ber Gilbert  Chertsey? — and  he  has  disappeared!" 

"How  do  you  know  this?"  The  speaker's  eyes  were 
like  slits  of  steely  flame. 

"Mr.  Chertsey  told  me  so  himself.  It  was  two  nights 
ago.  And  now "  she  stopped,  unable  to  continue. 

"Where  is  Chertsey?  I  must  see  him  at  once." 

"That  is  what  is  worrying  me,"  she  confessed.  "I 
don't  know  where  Gilbert  Chertsey  is.  All  I  know 
is  what  this  note  contains."  She  passed  over  the  sheet  of 
paper.  "That  came  by  post  this  morning,"  she  added. 
"I  don't  know  for  certain,  but  I  should  say  that  Mr. 
Chertsey  has  got  a  clue  about  his  uncle,  and  has  gone 
off  in  search  of  it." 


THE  CLOAKROOM  TICKET          215 

"Which  will  mean  that  in  all  probability  he  is,  like 
Washburn  Rinehart,  a  prisoner  by  this  time,  in  the 
hands  of  Sir  Luke  Benisty!"  commented  Napoleon 
Miles.  "It  was  to  keep  an  eye  on  Rinehart  that  I 
crossed  to  Paris." 

"Who  is  this  man  Rinehart?"  asked  Ann. 

"The  President's  closest  friend — and  the  most  im- 
portant man  in  America!" 

"And  why  did  he  come  to  Europe?" 

"To  warn  the  Governments  of  England  and  France 
against  the  very  man  who  now  holds  him  a  prisoner !" 

Ann  gave  a  convulsive  shudder. 

"And  it  is  to  try  and  save  him  that  Gilbert  Chert- 
sey  has  left  Paris!"  she  said.  "God  help  him!" 

"Yes,"  echoed  Napoleon  Miles  solemnly,  "God  help 
him!" 


Chapter  XXII 
IN  THE  CELLAR 

CHERTSEY,  slowly  opening  his  eyes,  felt  he 
must  be  dreaming.  What  was  this  place — and 
how  had  he  got  there? 

Returning  consciousness  showed  that  he  was  in  a 
kind  of  cellar.  The  place  was  stone-walled,  and  the 
cold,  damp  floor  on  which  he  was  lying  was  covered 
with  a  foul  green  deposit. 

He  sprang  up  quickly,  fresh  fear  chilling  his  already 
numbed  blood.  In  his  ears  beat  a  sound  which  he  could 
only  determine  was  sinister :  it  was  the  noise  of  rush- 
ing water,  and  it  was  very  near.  This  cellar  or  dungeon 
could  easily  be  flooded ;  perhaps  it  had  been  used  as  the 
drowning-place  of  many  a  poor  wretch  in  days  gone 
by. 

Benisty ! 

That  foul  swine! — if  only  he  could  get  his  hands 
upon  him  for  just  two  minutes !  He  would  not  ask 
longer  than  that. 

Realising  how  futile  such  an  ambition  must  be, 
the  novelist  started  to  examine  his  prison.  Now  that 
full  consciousness  had  returned,  it  was  easy  for  him 

216 


IN  THE  CELLAR  217 

to  remember  what  had  happened — he  had  sat  in  a  chair 
in  a  big  upstairs  apartment — a  barn  of  a  place  fur- 
nished as  a  library,  which  Benisty  had  said  was  his 
workroom — and  then,  through  the  agency  of  some 
mechanical  device,  he  had  been  hurled,  chair  and  all, 
down  what  must  have  been  a  chute.  Ingenious! 

The  question  he  wanted  answered  was  what  was 
due  to  happen  now?  Quite  evidently  Benisty  intended 
to  keep  him  a  prisoner — but  for  what  purpose?  Was 
the  arch-conspirator  afraid  that  the  disappearance  of 
Washburn  Rinehart  would  compel  him  (Chertsey) 
to  break  his  oath  and  tell  the  authorities  all  he  knew? 
Obviously  Benisty  did  not  want  him  roaming  at  large 
again.  That  was  why  he  had  been  trapped. 

Pacing  up  and  down  that  foul,  flagged  floor,  Chert- 
sey had  spirit  enough  to  laugh.  After  all,  the  joke  was 
on  his  side :  he  had  fooled  Benisty ! — the  oilskin  packet, 
upon  the  contents  of  which  hung  the  peace  of  Europe, 
could  not  be  taken  from  him :  it  was  safe !  Ann  would 
realise  the  seriousness  of  that  letter  he  had  sent  her — 
she  would  guard  the  ticket  closely.  And  as  for  Wash- 
burn  Rinehart,  at  least  he  knew  where  he  was — he  was 
in  this  very  same  Chateau ;  a  prisoner,  true,  but  .  .  . 
Chertsey  clenched  his  teeth  determinedly;  sooner  or 
later  he  would  get  his  chance  to  make  a  dash  at  getting 
away,  and  when  it  came,  he  felt  himself  pitying  any- 
one who  stood  in  his  way. 

He  looked  up.  As  he  had  entered  this  cellar  through 
the  roof,  there  must  be  the  same  way  out.  But  although 
he  stood  on  the  partially-wrecked  chair,  his  fingers  were 


2i8  THE  BLACK  HEART 

not  able  to  touch  the  dungeon  roof — dripping  wet,  like 
the  floor. 

There  must  be  a  door.  Damn  it,  he  wasn't  going  to 
be  allowed  to  starve,  he  supposed!  Yet  the  only  com- 
munication with  the  outside  world,  so  far  as  he  could 
discover  after  a  close  examination,  was  the  small  square, 
barred  space  serving  as  a  window,  high  up  on  the 
right-hand  wall.  This  was  nearly  two  feet  above  his 
reach  even  when  he  stood  upon  the  chair. 

The  conviction  that  he  would  never  leave  that  evil- 
smelling  den  alive  crept  over  him  like  a  stealthy- 
footed  terror. 

"My  God!"  he  cried. 

Then  he  felt  his  heart  give  a  great  leap;  either  his 
eyes  were  playing  some  trick  off  on  him — or  a  por- 
tion of  the  wall  on  the  other  side  of  the  dungeon 
was  moving ! 

Yes,  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  it :  a  huge  stone 
slab,  reaching  from  the  floor  to  the  height  of  a  man, 
was  slowly  widening. 

What  was  this?  A  trick?  What  did  he  care?  He 
crouched  back,  ready  to  spring.  His  chance  had  come  to 
attempt  to  escape.  The  blood  in  his  veins  commenced 
to  tingle. 

When  the  opening  was  about  a  foot  wide,  a  man's 
body  wriggled  itself  through.  Chertsey's  staring  eyes 
took  in  only  two  facts  before  he  hurled  himself  forward 
like  a  human  catapult. 

Thibau ! 

The  visitor  was  that  pale  rat  of  a  man  who,  in  com- 


IN  THE  CELLAR  219 

pany  with  another,  had  spoken  to  him  on  the  terrace 
of  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix  on  that  momentous  night  not 
long  ago.  Thibau !  The  swine  who  had  been  the  means 
of  his  getting  into  this  devil's  stew.  .  .  . 

That  was  the  first  fact  his  eyes  told  him.  The  second 
had  been  that  the  caller  was  armed:  in  his  right  hand 
was  a  revolver. 

This  barked  as  Chertsey  leapt.  The  novelist  felt  a 
red-hot  dagger  stab  him  somewhere — was  it  in  the 
arm? — and  then — the  fierce,  unbridled  joy  of  it! — 
his  fingers  were  round  the  man's  throat. 

The  rat  squealed,  as  rats  will  squeal  when  cornered, 
and  the  sound  seemed  to  Gilbert  Chertsey  to  be  the 
sweetest  music  he  had  ever  heard.  What  had  happened 
to  him?  He  was  filled  with  a  blood-lust  that  would 
have  been  disgusting  and  nauseating  a  month  ago — but 
now  he  wanted  to  kill  this  squealing  thing  that  writhed 
and  twisted  beneath  his  hands.  Kill — and  kill  ruthlessly. 

Chertsey  had  the  strength  of  three  men.  He  knew 
that  the  other  never  had  a  chance;  when  Thibau,  giv- 
ing a  last  animal  cry,  fell  to  the  filthy  floor,  the  fight, 
such  as  it  had  been,  was  over.  His  face  the  colour  of 
bad  putty,  this  creature  of  Sir  Luke  Benisty  remained 
still. 

The  most  gloriously  satisfying  sensation  he  had  ever 
known  came  to  Chertsey.  He  had  perhaps  killed  this 
man — what  did  that  matter? — and  now  was  free! 
Free!  He  had  only  to  slip  through  that  opening, 
and 

A  gasp  broke  from  him.  He  was  still  in  his  prison. 


220  THE  BLACK  HEART 

The  stone  slab  had  closed  to  again;  in  the  struggle, 
either  his  body  or  Thibau's  must  have  touched  the 
hidden  mechanism,  and  the  barrier  had  glided  back. 

God !  the  bitter  mockery  of  that  moment !  He  thought 
he  must  go  mad!  He  clawed  at  the  stone  slab  until 
his  finger-nails  were  broken,  and  the  blood  gushed  from 
the  wounds. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  man  at  his  feet.  But  Thibau 
was  beyond  speaking :  all  the  life  had  been  temporarily 
squeezed  out  of  him.  He  sagged  like  a  sack  of  wheat 
when  Chertsey  raised  him  from  that  rotting  floor. 

Yet  he  must  make  him  speak:  that  was  the  only 
chance.  Thibau  knew  the  secret,  and  he  must  be  made 
to  tell  it. 

"Wake  up,  you  swine!"  he  cried,  shaking  the  un- 
conscious man  again.  So  desperate  was  his  need  that 
he  did  not  realise  how  ludicrous  the  situation  had  be- 
come. 

He  was  still  on  his  knees,  trying  to  force  life  back 
into  the  man,  when  a  sharp  click  made  him  turn.  As  he 
did  so  he  realised  how  he  had  fooled  his  one  chance 
away.  He  should  have  waited. 

Now  the  slab  had  opened  again — but  the  second  man 
who  had  entered  was  on  Chertsey's  back — a  whole  ton- 
weight  of  him  it  seemed — and  he  was  raining  blows 
upon  his  head  and  neck  with  a  murderous  weapon 
that  might  be  the  butt-end  of  a  revolver  or  an  iron 
bar. 

The  attack  had  been  so  sudden,  so  unexpected,  and  so 
silently  ferocious  that  Chertsey  was  half -stunned  be- 


IN  THE  CELLAR  221 

fore  he  could  rally  himself.  Then,  his  head  buzzing  as 
though  a  thousand  bees  had  made  it  their  hive,  he  con- 
trived to  wriggle  from  beneath  this  fresh  assailant. 

He  saw  a  section  of  a  huge,  flabby  face,  topped  by 
a  pair  of  blazing  eyes  and  finishing  in  a  square  black 
beard. 

M.  Lefarge  had  come  to  see  after  his  comrade! 

The  man  was  beastly  heavy  and  inordinately  strong 
in  spite  of  his  ungainly  girth.  Moreover,  he  had  a 
knife  in  his  right  hand,  the  long  blade  of  which  gleamed 
evilly  in  that  murky  light. 

Chertsey,  remembering  the  revolver  which  Thibau 
had  dropped,  stooped,  feeling  for  the  weapon  with  a 
groping  right  hand. 

With  a  fierce,  hoarse  cry,  Lefarge  sprang  at  him. 
His  left  hand  was  outstretched  to  grasp,  whilst  the 
other  was  held  back  ready  to  give  the  coup  de  grace. 

Desperately  Chertsey  flung  himself  upright,  and 
hurled  his  left  fist  into  that  glowing  face.  The  next 
moment  the  two  bodies  were  locked  in  a  furious  em- 
brace again,  swaying  and  straining  this  way  and  that. 

The  struggle  soon  proved  unequal.  Chertsey  did  not 
know  that  blood  was  pouring  from  the  wound  in  the 
left  shoulder  where  he  had  been  shot  by  Thibau;  all 
he  was  conscious  of  was  a  sudden  alarming  sensation  of 
weakness — a  weakness  that  was  overpowering.  In  that 
instant  Lefarge  must  have  got  his  foot  behind  his  right 
heel,  for  he  tripped;  the  novelist  was  unable  to  save 
himself,  and  he  crashed  to  the  floor. 

It  was  all  over !  The  terrible,  ghastly,  bitingly  ironic 


222  THE  BLACK  HEART 

truth  flooded  through  his  brain.  To  die  in  this  cess- 
pool and  at  the  hands  of  this  bearded  thug!  .  .  . 

Lefarge  had  him  now  completely  in  his  power  and 
at  his  mercy.  And  the  lust  to  kill  blazed  from  his  pig- 
like  slits  of  eyes.  No  doubt  the  man  had  had  his  orders  ; 
presently — when  it  was  over — he  would  go  upstairs  to 
report  to  his  master.  .  .  . 

Ann! 

The  last  vision  he  had  was  of  the  girl's  face  looking 
beseechingly,  it  seemed,  at  him.  Then  the  relentless 
pressure  of  the  thick  fingers  at  his  throat  killed  what 
little  life  he  had  left. 

"I  trust  you  are  feeling  a  trifle  more  reasonable 
now  and  not  quite  so  bloodthirsty?" 

With  the  mists  lifting,  with  the  triple  racking  agonies 
in  head,  throat  and  shoulder  subsiding  a  little,  Chert- 
sey  looked  into  the  face  of  Sir  Luke  Benisty.  The  Chief 
of  The  Black  Heart  was  sitting  on  the  arm  of  the 
partially-ruined  chair;  he  was,  as  usual,  immaculately 
dressed,  and  was  smoking  a  cigar.  On  either  side  of  him 
was  a  man  wearing  a  servant's  uniform,  and  each  was 
holding  a  revolver. 

"Afraid  to  come  on  your  own,  cur?"  snapped  Chert- 
sey.  The  sight  of  this  man,  not  only  his  own  arch- 
enemy, but  the  arch-enemy  of  everything  which  was 
clean,  decent,  and  orderly,  filled  him  with  an  insensate 
madness. 

The  smile  on  the  finely-chiselled,  aristocratic  face  be- 
came slightly  more  ironic;  it  was  the  only  indication 
that  the  man  addressed  had  heard. 


IN  THE  CELLAR  223 

"You  are  a  very  foolish  young  man,  my  dear  Chert- 
sey,"  he  replied.  He  signalled  to  the  two  servants,  and 
the  armed  men  left  the  cellar.  Chertsey  strained  his 
eyes  to  see  how  the  mechanism  of  the  moving  slab 
worked,  but  was  deceived  by  the  quickness  of  the 
manipulator's  hands. 

"In  case  you  attempt  any  further  nonsense,  Chert- 
sey," the  voice  of  Benisty  broke  in,  "I  must  warn  you 
that  I  have  a  revolver  myself." 

The  novelist  did  not  reply.  All  the  physical  strength 
seemed  to  have  ebbed  out  of  him.  His  brain  was  razor- 
keen,  but  his  body  weakness  made  him  sprawl  inert. 
The  wound  in  his  shoulder  throbbed  abominably. 

The  temptation  to  hurl  taunt  after  taunt  into  the 
calm,  mocking  face  of  his  enemy  was  almost  over- 
whelming, but  he  resisted  it.  As  Benisty  had  said,  he 
had  been  a  fool:  it  was  time  he  tried  to  reap  some 
benefit  from  his  folly.  Instead  of  talking  he  would 
listen.  Coming  to  this  resolve,  he  endeavoured  to  settle 
himself  more  comfortably,  his  back  against  the  fester- 
ing wall. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  was  not  long  silent.  He  blew 
a  thin,  reflective,  admirably- formed  smoke-ring  from 
his  cigar,  and  then  looked  attentively  at  his  prisoner. 

"The  time  has  arrived  for  me  to  talk  of  certain 
things.  In  the  first  place,  it  has  become  increasingly 
clear  to  me  that  you  have  played  the  traitor  to  my 
Organisation.  This,  I  need  scarcely  say,  is  most  dis- 
tressing. As  you  were  warned  at  the  time  you  joined 
The  Black  Heart  what  the  inevitable  penalty  for  treach- 


224  THE  BLACK  HEART 

ery  would  be,  however,  you  can  have  no  just  cause  for 
complaint.  That  you  will  be  severely  punished  is  in- 
evitable; even  if  I  myself  were  inclined  to  show 
clemency,  others  interested  in  this — er — enterprise, 
would  rule  against  me." 

Waiting,  perhaps,  for  a  reply — a  reply  which  was 
not  forthcoming — the  speaker  continued: 

"There  is  possibly  one  way — but  one  way  only — 
in  which  the  Grand  Council  of  The  Black  Heart  may 
be  induced  to  take  a  more  lenient  view  of  your  con- 
duct." 

"And  that?"  interjected  the  prisoner. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  leaned  forward. 

"Where  is  the  oilskin  packet  which  you  took  from 
the  room  of  Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart  at  the  Hotel 
Charles  VII?"  he  asked. 

The  man  was  a  consummate  actor,  but  now,  for  once, 
he  was  betraying  himself.  The  finely-drawn  nostrils 
were  quivering,  the  hand  that  held  the  cigar  shook,  his 
whole  attitude  displayed  a  consuming  anxiety. 

Chertsey,  in  spite  of  the  resolve  he  had  so  recently 
made,  smiled. 

"Goto  hell!"  he  said. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  took  a  long,  deep-drawn  breath. 

"I  am,  in  the  normal  course  of  events,  a  kind-hearted 
man,  Chertsey,"  he  said,  "but  I  would  advise  you  not 
to  try  me  too  far.  An  ancestor  of  Le  Comte  Rene  de 
Guichard,  from  whom  I  am  renting  the  Chateau,  was 
somewhat  abnormally-minded.  He  had  a  passion  of  ill- 
treating  any  of  his  peasants  who  chanced  to  displease 


IN  THE  CELLAR  225 

him.  A  regrettable  practice,  of  course,  but  in  days  gone 
by  these  things  happened.  In  the  adjoining  dungeon  is 
a  highly  interesting  collection  of — well,  I  suppose  the 
correct  term  would  be  'instruments  of  torture.'  I  trust, 
Chertsey,  you  will  not  force  my  colleagues  of  the 
Grand  Council  to  employ  certain  of  these  upon  you. 
From  what  I  have  seen — and  heard — of  them,  they  are 
very  distasteful  implements.  It  would  be  infinitely  more 
wise  on  your  part  to  tell  me  straightaway  where  you 
placed  that  oilskin  packet?" 

The  speaker's  tone  was  suavity  itself,  but  under- 
lying the  words,  lurking  just  behind  the  courteous  man- 
ner, like  a  jungle-beast,  was  a  stealthy  menace.  Sir 
Luke  Benisty  at  that  moment  was  a  human  snake, 
treacherous,  evil,  deadly. 

"What  do  you  mean — oilskin  packet?" 

His  inquisitor  shrugged  his  shapely  shoulders. 

"Since  you  will  persist  in  being  dense,  my  young 
friend — a  stupid  procedure,  I  may  add — I  will  explain 
more  fully.  When  your  uncle,  Mr.  Washburn  Rine- 
hart,  arrived  in  Paris,  he  had  with  him  certain  papers. 
These,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  he  carried  in  an 
oilskin  case." 

"Indeed ! — and  how  do  you  know  this  ?" 

Sir  Luke  smiled. 

"I  have  my  means  of  information.  May  I  proceed? 
Thank  you.  My  colleagues  and  I  are  rather — indeed,  I 
can  go  so  far  as  to  say  we  are  very  anxious  to  obtain 
possession  of  those  papers — and  we  wish  you  to  tell  us 
where  they  are.  I  have  come  for  that  purpose." 


226  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"Which  is  the  reason  I  was  trapped  here  and  thrown 
into  this  cesspool  of  a  cellar,  Benisty !  Well,  you  have 
already  had  my  reply,  but  in  order  that  you  shall  fully 
understand,  I'll  tell  you  again — go  to  hell!"  So  much 
for  his  resolution:  at  the  sight  of  that  hateful,  sneer- 
ing face,  he  felt  every  fibre  of  his  body  tingling  with 
rage  that  seethed  and  boiled  beyond  his  control. 

He  was  only  waiting  for  a  little  strength  to  return, 
and  then — revolver  or  no  revolver — he  was  going  to 
settle  matters  once  and  for  all. 

Benisty  gently  shook  his  fine  head.  He  seemed  to 
experience  regret  at  such  language. 

"You  are  not  very  polite,  Chertsey.  But  we  have 
means,  as  I  have  already  hinted.  And,  quite  apart 
from  these  interesting  implements — thumbscrews,  pul- 
leys, boots  which — but  I  will  not  harrow  you — and 
that  highly-ingenious,  old-time  instrument  called 
euphemistically  'the  maiden/  I  would  remind  you  that 
your  uncle  is  in  an  upstairs  room,  and  has  no  means 
of  escape." 

Gilbert  Chertsey  slowly,  and  with  infinite  agony  of 
body,  heaved  himself  up.  Benisty,  curious  as  to  what  he 
would  do,  took  his  right  hand  out  of  his  coat-pocket. 
The  revolver  which  it  held  twirled  idly. 

"I  admit  you  hold  most  of  the  cards  at  the  moment, 
Benisty,"  a  level  voice  answered,  "but  you  can't  win — 
and  you  know  it!  Yes,  smile  your  devil's  smile,  but  I 
repeat:  you  know  it!  Because  if  you  win  in  the  end, 
everything  which  is  clean  and  sweet  and  decent  in  the 
world  at  the  present  time  will  perish — and,  frankly, 


IN  THE  CELLAR  227 

I  cannot  believe  that.  If  you  win,  it  will  mean  that 
black-hearted  traitors  like  you  will  triumph  over  men 
who  believe  in  their  country,  and  who  would  die  for  it 
if  necessary.  But  you  won't  win,  Benisty,"  Chertsey 
went  on,  his  voice  rising  until  the  oozing  walls  flung 
back  the  sound,  "you  haven't  the  trump  card!" 

The  other  threw  away  the  stump  of  his  cigar. 

"On  the  contrary,  my  dear  Chertsey,  the  trump  card 
is  on  its  way  here  now!"  he  replied. 

He  rose,  and  gave  a  sharp  whistle.  Immediately  the 
stone  slab  moved  aside,  admitting  the  two  servants. 

"I  will  leave  you  to  more  calm  reflection,  Chertsey," 
remarked  Sir  Luke  Benisty. 

With  three  revolvers  pointed  menacingly  at  him,  Gil- 
bert Chertsey  realised  the  complete  helplessness  of 
endeavouring  to  escape. 


Chapter  XXIII 
THE  VOICE  ON  THE  TELEPHONE 

AN     TRENTHAM     continued     to     look     at 
Napoleon  Miles. 
"What  are  we  to  do  with  this  ?"  she  asked, 
pointing  to  the  small  leather  bag  that  Miles  had  now 
placed  on  the  table. 

"I  have  a  suggestion.  It  is  that  we  place  it  in  my 
bank.  I  would  suggest  yours  only  I  do  not  like  the  idea 
of  you  holding  the  receipt.  You  have  committed  your- 
self irretrievably  with  Benisty  and  his  crowd,  and 
they  are  not  the  sort  of  people  to  have  any  scruples. 
I  should  feel  much  easier  in  my  mind,  in  fact,  if  you 
were  entirely  out  of  this  affair,  Miss  Trentham." 

She  dismissed  the  suggestion  with  a  slight  but  em- 
phatic movement  of  her  hand. 

"That's  impossible,"  she  told  him,  "impossible, 
for  a  good  many  reasons,  one  of  the  chief  being  that 
I  believe  either  Sir  Luke  Benisty  or  Sylvester  Lade, 
or  perhaps  both,  were  responsible  for  the  death  of  my 
father.  No,  Mr.  Miles,  having  gone  so  far,  it  is  useless 
to  try  to  prevent  me  being  in  at  the  death."  She  changed 
the  subject.  "Do  you  think  we  ought  to  see  what  is  in- 
side this?"  she  asked,  picking  up  the  bag. 

228 


THE  VOICE  ON  THE  TELEPHONE  229 

"We  will  give  Chertsey  another  forty-eight  hours.  If 
he  doesn't  turn  up  within  that  time,  I  will  take  the  bag 
to  the  American  Embassy  and  tell  them  the  facts.  If 
it's  at  all  possible,  however,  I  should  like  to  see  this 
thing  through  on  my  own.  To  a  certain  extent  I  am 
responsible  for  Washburn  Rinehart's  present  position; 
you  see,  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  came  to  England  was 
to  keep  a  more  or  less  unofficial  eye  upon  him." 

"He  never  went  to  England.5'" 

"No.  My  belief  is  that  some  spy — a  member  of  The 
Black  Heart,  of  course — in  Washington,  got  hold  of 
the  President's  private  code  and  cabled  Rinehart  fresh 
instructions  while  he  was  still  on  the  boat.  As  a  con- 
sequence of  that,  Rinehart  went  direct  to  Paris  without 
going  to  London,  his  original  destination.  And  talking 
about  London,  Miss  Trentham,  are  you  still  quite  sure 
you  won't  return  to  England  ?  I  understand  your  point 
of  view,  of  course,  and  I  admire  your  spirit — you  have 
given  me  plenty  of  opportunity  to  do  that,  remember ! — 
but  you  are  likely  to  be  a  very  important  pawn  in  this 
game.  Do  you  realise  that?" 

"Yes — but  you  cannot  persuade  me,  Mr.  Miles,  that 
I  should  be  doing  my  duty  better  in  London  than  in 
Paris." 

He  briefly  nodded. 

"Very  well:  but  in  view  of  the  tremendous  danger 
which  surrounds  you — this  isn't  the  time  to  mince 
words,  Miss  Trentham — will  you  agree  to  keep  to  your 
hotel  as  much  as  possible?  I  want  you  to  leave  the 


23o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

active  reconnoitring  work  to  me — I  am  used  to  it, 
and,  moreover,  it  comes  into  my  job 

"And  when  you  get  a  clue — something  to  work  on?" 
she  asked,  eagerly. 

"I  will  let  you  know  immediately." 

"And  then  I  shall  insist  upon  accompanying  you. 
Haven't  I  already  told  you  that  I  intend  to  be  in  at 
the  death?  Please  remember  that  I'm  not  exactly  a 
child,"  she  continued;  "I  have  travelled  throughout 
Europe,  and  had  to  penetrate  places  which  were  not 
supposed  safe  for  a  woman  whilst  I  collected  the  first 
information  against  The  Black  Heart." 

Miles  appraised  her  radiant  charm  in  a  swift,  com- 
prehending glance.  This  girl,  but  for  her  striking  in- 
dividuality, looked  more  like  a  famous  Society  beauty 
than  a  worker  in  the  dubious  world  of  underground 
intrigue  and  crime.  Heigho!  but  Life  was  full  of 
paradoxes  and  contradictions. 

"I  promise  you  that,"  he  said;  "and  now  I  think 
we  had  better  go  to  the  bank." 

She  stood  up. 

"Suppose  we  were  followed  here?"  she  asked. 

Miles  went  to  the  window  which  overlooked  the  nar- 
row street. 

"We  must  take  that  risk.  I  don't  think  it  likely  be- 
cause we  doubled  on  our  tracks  fairly  well,  but," 
putting  a  hand  into  his  coat-pocket,  "I  have  a  revolver 
and  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  shoot  if  anyone  becomes  too 
inquisitive." 

As  it  happened,  the  journey  to  the  bank,  undertaken 


THE  VOICE  ON  THE  TELEPHONE  231 

by  taxi-cab,  was  accomplished  without  mishap.  So  far 
as  Napoleon  Miles'  quick  eyes  could  detect,  moreover, 
no  one  appeared  to  be  taking  any  undue  interest  in 
them. 

The  manager  of  the  important  bank  off  the  Grand 
Boulevard  was  most  willing  to  oblige,  and  Ann  and 
Miles  saw  the  bag  deposited  in  the  bank's  strong-room 
before  they  left. 

"Even  if  another  person  should  present  this,"  ex- 
tending the  receipt,  "you  are  not  to  deliver  up  that  bag," 
Miles  said  to  the  manager ;  "in  no  circumstances  what- 
ever is  that  bag  to  be  surrendered  except  to  myself. 
Is  that  understood?" 

"Clearly,"  was  the  reply. 

Both  Ann  and  Nap  Miles  unconsciously  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  they  emerged  into  the  daylight. 

"That  should  be  safe  now  from  friend  Benisty — 
even  if  he  does  try  a  gigantic  bribe,"  remarked  the 
American. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Ann.  She  would  have  gone  alone  to 
her  hotel  if  Miles  had  not  insisted  upon  accompanying 
her  the  short  distance  to  the  Rue  Caumartin.  In  the 
lounge,  rilled  with  English-speaking,  matter-of-fact- 
looking  people,  they  said  good-bye. 

"You  will  remember  your  promise?"  were  Nap 
Miles'  last  words  as  they  shook  hands. 

"I  will  wait  for  your  message,  Mr.  Miles,"  was  the 
answer;  "should  I  get  any  clue  myself  I  will  leave  a 
note." 

"All  right — but,  please,  do  not  be  too  anxious  to 


232  THE  BLACK  HEART 

obtain  any  information  yourself;  this  is  essentially  a 
man's  job." 

"Women  have  their  uses — sometimes,"  she  replied  in 
friendly  dismissal. 

Alone,  Ann  went  straight  to  her  room.  The  public 
rooms  of  the  hotel  were  over-heated,  as  usual,  and 
the  chatter  of  the  occupants  badly  jarred  her  nerves 
just  then.  It  was  with  an  unconquerable  feeling  of  con- 
tempt that  she  regarded  her  fellow-guests:  these 
prattling,  nonsensical  women,  what  hold  did  they  have 
on  real  Life?  What  purpose  did  even  the  men  fulfil? 
Suppose  she  told  them  of  the  tremendous  events  in 
which  she  was  moving  and  having  her  being — they 
would  only  stare  and  think  she  was  mad !  Fools ! 

She  was  glad  to  be  undisturbed — the  solitude  and 
quietness  of  her  own  room  were  wonderfully  soothing. 
Reaction  had  come,  and  she  wished  to  be  alone;  she 
wanted  to  think. 

Ann  Trentham  became  very  much  the  woman  as  she 
sat  in  that  easy  chair,  looking  dully  at  the  wall  before 
her.  She  was  no  longer  the  reckless  spirit  who  had 
risked  so  much  High  Adventure  in  pursuit  of  a  purpose 
that  had  been  the  dearest  thing  in  Life  to  her.  She  was 
now  just  an  ordinary  girl.  Ordinary  because,  her 
soul  stirred,  she  was  thinking  of  a  man — and  at  the 
thought  of  him  her  heart  throbbed  within  her  breast. 

She  could  not  forget  that  she  had  been  the  means 
of  sending  Gilbert  Chertsey  to  what  might  prove  his 
death.  Perhaps  he  was  already  dead.  The  vision 
stabbing  her  like  a  sharp  sword,  she  gave  a  short 


THE  VOICE  ON  THE  TELEPHONE  233 

moan !  Oh,  God,  not  that ! — anything  but  that !  He  must 
still  be  alive ! — she  must  see  him  again ! 

Her  brain  tried  to  give  her  the  assurance  that,  even 
without  her  intercedence,  Chertsey  would  have  been 
dragged  into  this  affair.  Hadn't  those  men,  Lefarge 
and  Thibau,  approached  him  of  their  own  account? 
Wasn't  Washburn  Rinehart  his  uncle? 

Then  her  heart  answered:  knowing  the  terrific 
dangers  attached,  she  should  have  used  all  the  means 
in  her  power  to  keep  him  free  from  this  evil.  Instead, 
she  had  appealed  to  the  very  quality  which  Gilbert 
Chertsey,  in  spite  of  his  innocuous  profession,  possessed 
in  abundant  degree. 

Sitting  there,  communing  with  her  soul,  Ann  tried 
to  satisfy  that  furious  questioning  by  replying  that 
after  all,  Gilbert  Chertsey  had  played  and  was  playing 
a  man's  part  in  this  maelstrom  into  which  he  had  been 
thrown.  If  a  man's  country  were  in  danger,  dire  danger, 
as  England  undoubtedly  was  now,  oughtn't  he  to  take 
a  chance,  oughtn't  he  to  risk  his  life  if  needs  be? 

No,  not  his  life !  Again,  as  that  horrific  vision  came, 
she  cried  out  in  protest,  putting  up  her  hands  to  shut 
out  the  sight. 

She  tried  to  think  of  the  world  which  would  be  hers 
when  this  Evil  had  gone,  when  Benisty  and  all  the 
rest  of  that  plotting  army  had  passed  into  the  hands  of 
Justice,  and  Peace  should  come  again.  It  would  be  a 
world  of  sweet-smelling  flowers  and  quiet,  but  wonder- 
ful joys.  Ever  since  her  father's  death  she  had  been 
so  obsessed  by  getting  her  revenge  that  she  had  spared 


234  THE  BLACK  HEART 

no  time  or  thought  for  anything  else.  Now,  if  Gilbert 
Chertsey  loved  her,  as  she  believed  he  did,  existence 
would  take  on  a  new  significance.  Life  would  be 
jewelled  with  simple  pleasures  such  as  she  had  never 
known.  They  would  not  want  for  money — she  had 
heaps  and  to  spare  for  the  both  of  them. 

With  a  quick  revulsion  of  feeling  she  was  glad  now 
that  there  was  this  bond,  this  tie,  between  them.  It 
would  be  a  link  that  would  last  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives. 

If  only  Gilbert  was  still  alive!  If  only  he  would  be 
spared  from  the  shambles  which  might  start  at  any 
moment ! 

Dead!  She  could  not  think  of  that — would  not  think 
of  it.  .  .  . 

A  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  causing  her  to  spring 
up  excitedly.  Her  nerves  were  getting  the  mastery  of 
her:  she  must  guard  against  that. 

"Entrez"  she  called. 

A  uniformed  porter,  opening  the  door,  bowed. 

"M'selle  is  required  to  speak  on  the  telephone." 

"Merci.  I  will  come  at  once." 

"Bien,  m'selle." 

It  must  be  Napoleon  Miles,  she  decided,  as  she  lifted 
the  receiver,  but  the  next  instant  her  heart  leapt  into 
her  throat.  The  voice  she  heard  was  that  of  the  man  she 
had  feared  was  dead. 

"Is  that  you,  Ann,  dear?" 

"Yes! — yes!  Tell  me,  are  you  all  right — quite  safe? 
I  have  been  so  anxious  about  you — thank  you  for  ring- 


THE  VOICE  ON  THE  TELEPHONE  235 

ing  me  up  now!"  What  did  she  care  if  he  read  her 
secret;  she  was  too  full  of  joy. 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  pleasant  laugh  from  the 
other  end. 

"Yes,  darling,  I  am  quite  all  right — you  can  stop 
worrying  about  me.  But,  listen,  I  have  wonderful 
news!  I  have  discovered  where  my  uncle  is!" 

"Wonderful,  indeed!  Can  you  tell  me  anything  else 
— or  is  it  too  dangerous,  do  you  think,  over  the  tele- 
phone?" 

"Listen,  Ann,"  came  the  answer.  "I  dare  not  say  any- 
thing more  now.  But  I  want  you  to  join  me — to-night, 
will  you  ?"  The  voice  sounded  almost  hysterically  eager. 

She  replied  without  stopping  to  reflect. 

"Of  course!  Where  do  you  wish  me  to  meet  you?" 

"I  want  you  to  get  a  private  car  and  drive  to  a  vil- 
lage named  Menilmont,  which  is  to  the  north  of  Paris 
about  twenty  miles  out.  Any  driver  will  know  the  route. 
I  am  staying  at  a  small  hotel,  Les  Fleur  de  Lys,  and  I 
will  be  waiting  for  you.  I  have  some  more  inquiries  to 
make  this  afternoon  and  to-night  or  I  would  come  to 
fetch  you.  If  you  leave  your  hotel  after  dinner — say  at 
8.30 — you  ought  to  get  here  by  half-past  nine.  Darling, 
I'm  dying  to  see  you  and  to  tell  you  my  news !" 

"I'll  be  there  at  half-past  nine,  Gilbert."  She  tried 
hard  to  keep  her  voice  steady,  but  it  was  very  difficult. 
Still,  why  should  she  care?  In  that  eager,  boyish  tone 
she  had  grown  to  love,  he  had  called  her  "darling." 

"Gilbert." 

But  no  reply  came,  and  she  was  obliged  to  hang  up 


236  THE  BLACK  HEART 

the  receiver.  There  were  many  questions  she  would 
have  liked  to  ask  him,  but  no  doubt  he  knew  best:  it 
might  be  dangerous  for  them  to  discuss  such  an  im- 
portant matter  as  the  disappearance  and  subsequent 
discovery  of  an  International  diplomat  over  the  tele- 
phone. 

She  must  tell  Napoleon  Miles,  however ;  in  doing  so, 
she  was  merely  redeeming  the  promise  she  had  made. 
Yet  repeated  telephone  calls  to  the  flat  at  Montparnasse 
elicited  no  reply.  Miles,  evidently,  was  busy  in  the  out- 
side world,  working  on  whatever  clues  he  might  have 
been  fortunate  enough  to  pick  up. 

She  would  leave  a  note,  as  arranged ;  no  doubt  Miles 
would  call  that  night. 

Sitting  down  at  once,  she  explained  what  had  hap- 
pened. Sealing  the  envelope,  she  waited  until  the  last 
moment  before  leaving  it  with  the  hall-porter  at  the 
hotel  bureau. 

The  under-porter,  when  he  heard  of  her  require- 
ments, quickly  arranged  for  a  private  car  to  be  outside 
the  hotel  at  eight-thirty ;  and,  stepping  into  this,  carry- 
ing only  a  small  dressing  case,  she  abandoned  herself 
to  a  spirit  of  joyous  anticipation.  As  the  miles  slipped 
away  beneath  the  smooth-running  wheels  of  the  well- 
driven  car,  her  feeling  of  elation  increased. 

Although  the  speed  of  the  car  was  considerable,  yet 
the  time  seemed  interminable.  Never  once  did  any  doubt 
assail  her :  it  was  Gilbert  Chertsey's  voice  she  had  heard 
over  the  telephone,  and  she  had  complete  confidence  in 
the  man  who  had  called  her  "darling." 


THE  VOICE  ON  THE  TELEPHONE  237 

Suddenly  the  car  pulled  up  in  the  dark  road  with  a 
jerk.  She  had  arrived. 

The  next  moment  the  doors  on  either  side  were  flung 
violently  open.  A  number  of  men  poured  in. 

The  scream  which  had  risen  to  her  lips  was  stifled 
by  a  vile-smelling  cloth,  reeking  of  some  noxious  drug, 
which  was  thrown  instantly  over  her  head. 

She  endeavoured  to  struggle,  but  it  was  hopeless. 

The  last  recollection  she  had  was  of  a  man  by  her 
side  chuckling  obscenely  as  the  car  moved  forward 
again. 


Chapter  XXIV 
THE  MEET 

THE  wolves  who  were  to  ravage  Europe,  de- 
spoil France  and  ruin  England,  had  met.  They 
were   seated   in  the   huge,    sparsely- furnished 
room,  fashioned  as  a  library,  in  the  Chateau  Montais. 
Sir  Luke  Benisty,  the  one-time  trusted  official  of  the 
British  Foreign  Office,  was  their  host.  He  had  as  his 
assistant    his    fellow    renegade,    the    over-mannered 
French  aristocrat,  M.  le  Comte  Rene  de  Guichard.  God 
only  knew   what   unexpected   strain   of   vileness   had 
placed  the  latter  in  that  gallery — but  there  he  was : 
mincing,   bowing   from  the  waist,   excitedly  gesticu- 
lating. 

They  were  a  strange  company — bizarre  and  terrible. 
Baron  von  Gotze  was  there.  You  know  Baron  von 
Gotze ;  at  least,  you  have  heard  of  him — seen  his  photo- 
graph in  the  World's  Press.  His  square,  Prussian's 
face  was  then  invariably  masked  in  a  disarming  smile. 
"Pity  us — we  are  stricken.  But  we  have  learned  our 
lesson,  and  shall  not  offend  again."  That  was  what  the 
disarming  smile  of  Baron  von  Gotze  meant  to  convey. 
Von  Gotze,  you  will  recall,  was  at  Geneva,  also  at 

238 


THE  MEET  239 

Locarno.  At  both  places  he  was  the  mildest-mannered 
Prussian  who  ever  slit  a  human  throat. 

See  him  now,  sitting,  an  honoured  guest,  in  the 
library  of  the  man  who,  by  every  law  and  instinct, 
should  have  been  a  deadly  enemy.  He  is  truculent, 
gross,  brutal,  overbearing — the  hog  is  showing  its 
bristles — with  M.  le  Comte  Rene  de  Guichard  bowing 
and  scraping  before  him.  .  .  . 

With  Baron  von  Gotze,  representing  his  country,  is 
von  Scheidemann.  The  face  of  von  Scheidemann  is  not 
so  familiar  to  you:  he  is  an  underground  worker.  He 
was  highly  placed  in  the  German  Secret  Service  during 
the  War.  After  the  Armistice,  it  was  officially  stated  he 
had  been  demobilised  from  these  activities,  but  actually 
he  was  sent  to  France,  there  to  organise  an  even  more 
intensive  system  of  espionage.  How  many  poor  devils 
of  Frenchmen  he  snared  into  his  net,  only  the  official 
records  will  show.  France  protested,  but  von  Scheide- 
mann had  a  post  at  the  German  Embassy — and  many 
alibi. 

Siegmund  von  Scheidemann,  lounging  near  his 
superior  with  a  contemptuous  grin  upon  his  ruddy  face, 
made  a  worth-while  study.  He  was  a  curious  mixture 
of  the  aristocrat  (as  they  know  the  breed  in  Germany) 
and  the  complete  cad.  He  affected  a  tremendous  scorn 
of  anyone  not  born  in  the  purple  and  yet  he  stooped 
daily  to  acts  which  would  have  shamed  a  common 
thief  or  lowest  criminal. 

A  man  cannot  lie  in  the  gutter  without  having  the 
traces  imprinted  in  his  face.  Von  Scheidemann  had  a 


240  THE  BLACK  HEART 

drooping  right  eye-lid  which  gave  him  the  manner  at 
times  of  the  slimiest  thing  that  walked.  But  then,  he 
was  that — and  something  more. 

These  were  the  Germans.  On  their  left  were  their 
allies — God  save  the  mark! — Petronovitch,  Sobinov, 
Zybsco,  the  so-called  Pole:  the  blood- wallowers,  the 
mass-murderers,  the  men  who  had  ordered  thousands 
of  men,  women  and  even  children  to  be  tortured,  simply 
that  their  sadist-lusts  might  be  gratified. 

These  three  ruled  Russia,  all  the  same — and  they 
were  the  allies  of  that  secret  and  plotting  Germany 
which,  through  the  long  years,  had  been  preparing 
under  the  very  eyes  of  the  nations  who  were  supposed 
to  have  disarmed  her. 

Coarsely  arrogant,  Conrad  von  Gotze  now  held  the 
floor.  He  addressed  Sir  Luke  Benisty. 

"You  say  the  man  Gumpter  is  dead?"  he  asked. 

Benisty  nodded. 

"I  took  it  upon  myself  to  give  the  order,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"Good!"  was  the  grunted  rejoinder;  "the  man  had 
been  given  sufficient  time.  Now  what  about  Marx  and 
Scholz?" 

"I  have  not  heard — apparently  they  are  still  de- 
liberating." 

The  Prussian  smashed  his  fist  heavily  down  on  the 
table. 

"Cable  immediately — you  know  to  whom:  the  same 
man  who  killed  Gumpter,  if  you  like.  Those  who  are 
not  with  us  are  against  us.  I  would  have  sworn  by 


THE  MEET  241 

Marx  and  Scholz — I  know  them  both;  met  them  only 
a  year  ago  in  Berlin — but  if  they  won't  come  in,  they 
must  be  got  rid  of :  they  know  too  much." 

That  leader  of  the  world's  progress,  Zybsco,  the  so- 
called  Pole,  turned  Bolshevist  mass-murderer,  spat 
noisily.  It  was  a  habit  he  had. 

"And  this  man — this  cursed  American,  Rinehart — 
doesn't  he  know  too  much,  eh?"  he  snarled. 

A  chorus  of  approval  greeted  the  words.  These  men, 
saturated  with  slaughter,  thought  only  in  terms  of 
blood. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  lifted  a  hand. 

"Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart  certainly  knows  a  great 
deal — a  very  great  deal,"  he  replied,  "but  I  would  re- 
mind you,  gentlemen,  that  he  is  here,  under  our  con- 
trol, and  that  his  information  is  not  likely  to  be 
dangerous  to  us  in  consequence." 

Von  Scheidemann  turned  his  monocled  eye  to  the 
speaker. 

"Why  did  he  come  to  Europe — has  he  told  you 
that?"  he  asked  in  a  rasping  voice. 

Benisty,  keeping  his  temper  with  admirable 
restraint,  smiled. 

"We  know  why  he  came  to  Europe — at  least,  we 
can  guess.  Someone — Gumpter,  perhaps — spoke  rather 
too  freely  of  what  he  knew.  As  a  result,  the  President 
sent  this  Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart,  his  most  intimate 
friend,  and  the  'second  most  powerful  man  in  America,' 
as  the  newspapers  are  so  fond  of  describing  him,  to 
England,  with  the  intention  of  interviewing  my  friends 


242  THE  BLACK  HEART 

of  the  British  Government.  You  are  already  aware, 
gentlemen,"  with  a  short  but  justifiable  smile  of  self- 
satisfaction,  "that  Rinehart  never  went  to  London.  In 
consequence  of  a  certain  cable  message,  received  before 
the  boat  arrived  at  Southampton,  he  turned  round  and 
came  straight  on  here  to  Paris — where  I  had  previously 
made  plans  for  his  reception.  If  any  of  you  would 
like  to  see  him,  he  is  only  three  minutes'  walk  away." 

Sobinov  leered.  So  had  he  leered  a  thousand  times 
when  superintending  the  good  work  of  the  Soviet 
Cheka.  But,  while  he  was  leering,  the  coarse  voice  of 
Baron  von  Gotze  broke  in. 

"Where  are  his  papers?  He  must  have  brought 
papers- — documentary  proofs.  No  Government,  not  even 
those  damned  fools,  the  British,  would  give  him 
credence  on  his  bare  word.  Invincible  in  their  conceit, 
they  would  merely  smile — in  the  damnably  polite  way 
you  have  yourself,  Benisty — and  show  him  the  door. 
Where  are  this  man's  papers,  I  say?" 

The  man  addressed  was  observed  slightly  to  change 
colour. 

"When  he  arrived  here  he  had  no  papers.  The  room 
in  his  hotel  had  previously  been  searched,  but  nothing 
was  found." 

Baron  von  Gotze  rose,  stamping  the  floor. 

"You're  keeping  something  back,  Benisty;  there's 
the  proof  of  it  in  your  face!  Gott  in  Himmel,  do  you 
think  you  can  fool  us  ?  Why,  I  would  tear  the  life  out  of 
your  throat  with  my  bare  hands "  He  started  for- 
ward, as  though  to  carry  out  his  threat. 


THE  MEET  243 

Benisty  stood  his  ground.  In  that  moment  of  crisis, 
for  all  his  black  treachery,  he  showed  his  breed. 

"You're  talking  damned  rubbish,  von  Gotze,"  he 
replied.  "Let  me  remind  you  that  this  affair  would 
not  be  ready  to  be  launched  in  a  few  days'  time  were 
it  not  for  me.  Mine  has  been  the  organisation.  If 
this  man  Rinehart  brought  papers  to  Europe,  then  all  I 
can  say  is  they  are  not  to  be  found." 

The  answer  seemed  partially  to  satisfy  the  angry 
Prussian  for,  growling,  he  resumed  his  seat. 

Petronovitch,  an  incredibly  dirty  person  with  a  long, 
black,  snaky  beard,  through  which  he  ran  grimy 
fingers  continuously,  threw  the  cigarette  he  had  been 
smoking  into  the  fire. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  he  demanded;  "this  man — 
we  can  always  kill  him !  We  can  kill  him  before  we  go. 
But  let  us  have  no  more  empty  talk — now  that  we  are 
here,  we  must  discuss  the  final  plans." 

The  chairs  of  those  who  hoped  to  ravage  Europe, 
despoil  France,  and  ruin  England,  scraped  forward. 

Washburn  Rinehart  tossed  uneasily  in  his  bonds. 
God!  if  he  could  only  get  his  hands  free  so  that  he 
might  have  a  chance  of  escape. 

How  long  had  he  been  imprisoned?  It  seemed  a 
lifetime — an  eternity  of  brain-racking  anxiety.  The 
wonder  was  he  had  not  been  driven  mad. 

The  whole  of  Europe  was  swaying  unconsciously 
on  the  edge  of  a  tremendous  precipice — and  he  was 
the  only  man  who  could  avert  the  disaster!  Which 


244  THE  BLACK  HEART 

was  the  reason  he  was  in  his  present  predicament,  of 
course. 

Why  didn't  they  kill  him  ?  They  would  have  to  before 
he  would  tell  them  anything.  At  least,  he  had  the  grim 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  they  were  puzzled  and 
worried.  They  knew  that  he  had  come  to  Europe  for 
the  purpose  of  warning  the  Governments  of  Great 
Britain  and  France  against  their  damnable  plotting — 
but  they  were  uncertain  as  to  what  he  had  done  with 
the  proofs  which  they  believed  he  had  brought  with  him. 
So  much  was  plain. 

He  was  very  weak — they  had  not  only  kept  him  from 
food,  but  had  injected  their  devilish  drugs — but  he 
seemed  to  have  some  recollection  of  having  seen  Gilbert 
Chertsey.  This  idea  persisted,  although  he  told  himself 
that  it  could  scarcely  be  true.  How  could  Gilbert  pos- 
sibly have  found  his  way  there? 

He  was  still  puzzling  over  this  problem  when  the  door 
opened.  Four  men  entered  the  room.  The  first,  who 
walked  in  front,  he  did  not  recognise.  He  was  an 
enormous  figure  of  a  man,  with  a  pronounced  stoop, 
and  an  exaggerated  style  of  dressing.  He  wore  an 
extremely-waisted  coat  with  peg-top  trousers,  and  a 
large  fob  dangled  from  a  waistcoat  pocket.  The  man 
looked  like  a  grotesque  modern  reflection  of  a  Georgian 
dandy. 

"Ah !  So  glad  to  see  you're  awake,"  this  person  said, 
approaching  the  bed.  He  spoke  with  a  lisp,  and  in  a 
voice  that  seemed  weighted  with  all  the  boredom  of  the 


THE  MEET  245 

ages.  "I've  brought  someone  to  see  you,  Mr.  Rinehart. 
Please  do  not  allow  his  condition  to  distress  you." 

Washburn  Rinehart,  looking  beyond  the  speaker, 
gave  a  cry  of  horror;  dragged  along  by  two  men,  one 
holding  either  shoulder,  was  Gilbert  Chertsey!  The 
latter  looked  a  physical  wreck,  as  though  he  was  on  the 
verge  of  a  complete  breakdown.  There  were  lines  in  his 
pale,  worn  face,  which  had  not  been  there  a  few  days 
before,  and  his  eyes  held  a  look  of  unutterable  horror. 

"What  have  you  done  to  him?"  demanded  Rinehart. 
"Gilbert — don't  you  know  me?"  he  called  to  the 
stricken  man,  but  the  reply  he  got  was  a  blank  stare. 

The  tall  man  with  the  stooped  shoulders  flicked  a  silk 
handkerchief  from  his  breast  pocket. 

"We  have  been — perhaps  I  should  explain  first  of  all, 
however,  that  I  am  the  secretary  of  Sir  Luke  Benisty. 
Sir  Luke  at  the  moment  is  much  concerned  with  other 
important  matters  or  he  would  be  here  himself.  As  I 
was  saying,  we  have  been  under  the  painful  necessity 
of  applying  a  slight  measure  of  force  to  Mr.  Chertsey, 
who  is,  I  believe,  your  nephew,  Mr.  Rinehart.  He  was 
stupidly  obstinate,  and " 

"You  have  tortured  him,  you  swine!" 

The  other  made  a  gesture  of  dissent. 

"I  dislike  that  word  'tortured':  it  is  so  blatant;  so 
crude.  As  an  educated  and  cultured  man,  Mr.  Rinehart, 
you  will  understand  my  aversion  from  any  word  which 
is  in  the  nature  of  being  crude.  You  see,  I  write — 
essays,  belles  lettres,  poems — and " 


246  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"Why  have  you  ill-treated  my  nephew?"  broke  in 
the  American. 

Barrington  Snell,  after  delicately  wiping  the  tips  of 
his  abnormally  long  fingers,  replaced  the  silk  handker- 
chief in  his  coat. 

"I  wish  you  to  understand,  Mr.  Rinehart,  that  it  was 
only  with  the  utmost  reluctance  that  we  were  obliged 
to  resort  to — ah,  certain  measures  with  your  nephew. 
He,  as  I  have  already  stated,  was  obstinate,  stupidly  so : 
he  refused  to  state  what  he  had  done  with  certain  papers 
— papers  in  an  oilskin  packet,  I  understand — which 
were  entrusted  to  his  care  by  you  on  the  evening  that 
you  paid  your  visit  to  Le  Sport." 

Rinehart  saw  the  trick  immediately.  But  he  quickly 
answered:  "You're  barking  up  the  wrong  tree,  you 
fool !  Mr.  Chertsey  knew  nothing  about  my  papers — he 
never  even  saw  them !  No  wonder  he  did  not  talk — he 
had  nothing  to  say !" 

The  other  seemed  impressed.  He  frowned. 

"Then  it  comes  back,  apparently,  to  the  former 
situation,  Mr.  Rinehart,"  he  remarked,  in  a  tone  that 
was  full  of  menace;  "you  alone  know  the  present 
whereabouts  of  the  papers — and  please  do  not  delude 
yourself  any  longer  that  you  will  not  be  forced  to  tell. 
What  has  been  done  to  this  fellow  here,"  flicking  a 
contemptuous  if  weary  hand  in  the  direction  of  Chert- 
sey, "will  be  a  small  affair  compared  to  ...  but  I  will 
leave  you  to  the  anticipation." 

He  made  a  sign,  and  the  two  warders  dragged 
Chertsey  out  of  the  room.  Barrington  Snell  paused  at 


THE  MEET  247 

the  door  to  give  the  American  envoy  a  ceremonious 
bow. 

Rinehart  cursed  as  he  tugged  afresh  at  the  bonds 
which  were  immovable.  Starved,  drugged — and  now 
to  be  tortured !  Well,  let  the  devils  do  their  worst :  he 
would  die  rather  than  give  them  any  satisfaction. 


Chapter  XXV 
FACE  TO  FACE 

WELCOME  to  the  Chateau  de  Montais,  my 
dear  Miss  Trentham!" 
She  would  have  known  that  hated  voice  any- 
where; moreover,  ever  since  she  had  awakened  from 
that  chloroform-induced  sleep,  she  had  been  preparing 
herself  to  meet  Sir  Luke  Benisty. 

The  man  now  stood  before  her,  bowing  ironically. 

Her  head  was  still  swimming,  but  she  managed  to 
stand. 

"Having  murdered  and  ruined  my  father,  you  now 
kidnap  me.  For  what  object?" 

He  looked  at  her  intently.  Then,  shrugging  his 
shoulders:  "Since  you  know  so  much,  my  dear  Miss 
Trentham,  why  should  I  attempt  to  deceive  you?  Your 
father  was  a  traitor  to  his  country ;  and,  although  I  did 
not  kill  him  myself — as  you  somewhat  naively  suggest 
— I  admit  I  caused  him  to  be  punished.  I  considered  it 
to  be  my  duty  to  do  so." 

Although  she  felt  herself  shaking  from  head  to  foot, 
Ann  kept  her  voice  steady. 

"I  have  travelled  many  thousands  of  miles,  and  spent 
the  past  eighteen  months  of  my  life  endeavouring  to 

248 


FACE  TO  FACE  249 

solve  the  mystery  of  my  father's  death,"  she  said  so 
steadily  that  the  eyes  of  the  listener  involuntarily  flashed 
her  a  look  of  admiration,  "and  now  I  have  succeeded. 
If  it  was  not  your  own  hand  that  killed  my  father, 
yours  was  the  mind  that  conceived  and  ordered  his 
death.  You  talk  of  duty — you,  the  vilest  traitor  that 
ever  disgraced  the  name  of  'Englishman/  But  Nemesis 
is  waiting  for  you,  Sir  Luke  Benisty.  A  short  time  now, 
and  not  only  your  Black  Heart  organisation,  which 
exists  for  trading  in  International  secrets,  but  this 
conspiracy  to  plunge  Europe  into  another  war  will  be 
exposed  and  your  precious  plans  blown  sky-high !  And, 
thank  God,  something  of  the  credit  will  belong  to  mei 
I  have  waited  and  waited — but  I  can  see  my  revenge 
rapidly  approaching  now !" 

This  revelation,  it  was  clear  to  the  girl,  had  evidently 
startled  Benisty,  but  he  pretended  not  to  be  affected. 

"You  are  talking  melodrama,  my  dear  Miss  Trent- 
ham — a  deplorable  thing  to  do,"  he  commented.  "Let 
us  assume  for  a  moment  that  there  is  something  in  the 
wild  statements  you  have  made;  you  should  not  allow 
it  to  escape  your  notice  that  I  happen  to  hold  the  cards. 
Not  only  is  Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart — I  presume,  since 
you  claim  to  so  much  knowledge,  that  you  are  aware 
who  Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart  really  is? — in  my  safe 
keeping  but  so  is  his  nephew,  Mr.  Gilbert  Chertsey.  My 
information,  my  dear  Miss  Trentham,  is  to  the  effect 
that  of  late  you  have  allowed  yourself  to  become  very 
much  interested  in  this  young  man.  Naturally,  you  will 
be  wondering  how  you  were  so  foolish  as  to  imagine 


25o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

it  was  the  voice  of  your — may  I  go  so  far  as  to  call 
him  lover? — that  spoke  to  you  on  the  telephone  this 
afternoon?  Since  I  hate  to  see  so  charming  a  creature 
wrestling  with  a  perplexing  suspense,  I  will  tell  you 
my  little  secret.  Amongst  my  entourage  here  is  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Lefarge.  Included  in  his  many  accomplish- 
ments is  an  ability  to  imitate  in  the  most  realistic 
manner  the  voice  of  anyone  he  selects.  I  understand 
his  performance  this  afternoon  was  particularly  good." 

"It  was  clever,  Benisty,"  the  girl  admitted,  "very 
clever.  Yet  I  do  not  think  it  will  do  you  much  good." 

"No?" 

"No.  I'll  tell  you  the  reason.  You  spoke  just  now  of 
holding  the  cards.  You  certainly  have  many  trumps, 
but  the  most  important  card  of  all  is  held  by  a  stranger 
— someone  quite  outside  your  circle  of  acquaintances. 
And  you  can  have  this  additional  information :  if  Gil- 
bert Chertsey  is  not  back  in  Paris  alive  and  unhurt 
within  the  next  twenty-four  hours,  this  man  will  act. 
And  he  has  as  much  power  as  you,  Benisty !" 

The  man  smiled,  although  the  news  clearly  was  not 
palatable. 

"Perhaps  you  yourself,  Miss  Trentham,  are  in  the 
position  to  supply  the  information  we  require,"  he 
replied;  "believe  me,  if  you  can,  you  would  be  well 
advised  to  do  so.  Especially  in  the  interests  of  Mr. 
Gilbert  Chertsey,"  he  added,  significantly. 

"The  only  information  I  propose  to  give  you,  you 
already  know."  She  would  not  allow  him  to  frighten 
her. 


FACE  TO  FACE  251 

"That  is  definite?" 

"It  is  quite  definite." 

"Very  well.  Allow  me  to  say,  Miss  Trentham,  that  I 
think  you  are  a  very  foolish  young  woman  to  speak" — 
he  paused — "to  your  future  husband  in  that  manner." 

She  was  shaken  out  of  her  defiant  mood. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded,  hotly. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  made  her  a  ceremonious  bow. 

"I  had  two  objects  in  having  you  brought  to  the 
Chateau,  my  dear  Miss  Trentham,"  he  replied.  "The 
first  was  to  ensure  that  you  should  do  no  further  harm, 
or  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  my  plans,  and  the  second 
was  that,  having  long  entertained  a  very  warm  affection 
and  admiration  for  your  charming  self,  I  proposed  to 
marry  you." 

Ann  looked  at  him  as  she  might  have  regarded  a 
snake  in  a  garden-path. 

"That  is  the  stupidest  possible  remark  you  could  have 
made.  Don't  you  realise  that  I  would  rather  take  my  life 
than  allow  you  to  touch  me?" 

"Talking  of  suicide,  Miss  Trentham,"  Benisty  said, 
"there  are  some  quite  good  rocks  on  the  north  side  of 
the  Chateau.  An  ancestor  of  the  man  from  whom  I  am 
at  present  renting  the  place  had  rather  an  ingenious 
idea :  he  had  a  chute  fixed  up,  so  that  when  he  wished 
to  get  rid  of  one  of  his  enemies — and  he  had  several 
— he  merely  placed  the  man  on  the  chute  and  had  him 
propelled  into  the  valley  three  hundred  feet  below. 
Afterwards  one  of  his  servants  went  down  and  cut  the 
ropes  with  which  the  man  was  bound,  the  authorities 


252  THE  BLACK  HEART 

were  informed,  and  it  was  given  out  that  yet  another 
unfortunate  traveller  had  met  with  his  death  through 
slipping  on  the  ill- famed  rocks  at  Montais.  I  only  men- 
tion this  because " 

"Because  you  think  you  can  intimidate  me  with 
regard  to  Mr.  Chertsey.  But  you  are  merely  wasting 
your  time." 

"We  shall  see,"  replied  Benisty,  going  to  the  door. 

A  minute  later  Ann,  her  reserve  strength  gone,  burst 
into  a  paroxysm  of  weeping. 


Chapter  XXVI 
AT  THE  LAPIN  BLANC 

SERIOUS?    Yes,    it's    serious — and    something 
more,"  replied  Napoleon  Miles;  "but  don't  lose 
heart,  Bill ;  now's  the  time  to  bite  on  the  bullet, 
old  son." 

"What  exactly  is  the  position  so  far  as  you  under- 
stand it?"  asked  that  harassed-looking  Foreign  Office 
official,  the  Hon.  William  Summers.  "I  have  been  sent 
over  to  Paris  to  make  some  inquiries  because  there  are 
some  damned  funny  rumours  going  about  Whitehall." 

Napoleon  Miles  signalled  the  wine-waiter — they  were 
sitting  in  the  famous  Taverne  Royale  on  the  Rue 
Royale — and  gave  his  order.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
companion. 

"The  rumours  are  nothing  compared  to  the  truth, 
Bill,"  he  answered;  "all  the  predictions  you  made  at 
Rimini's  that  day  when  we  were  lunching  together, 
concerning  your  friend  Sir  Luke  Benisty,  have  been 
realised.  Here's  an  item  of  news  you  can  take  straight 
to  your  people  at  the  Embassy:  England's  on  the  eve 
of  the  greatest  and  most  terrible  war  in  her  history !" 

"Good  God!  What  are  you  talking  about,  man?" 
demanded  the  other. 

253 


254  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  am  telling  you  the  straight,  simple  truth,  Bill. 
Within  the  next  forty-eight  hours  anything  can  happen. 
The  only  way  in  which  the  disaster  can  be  averted  is 
for  us  to  discover  the  present  headquarters  of  Benisty 
— he  was  in  Paris  quite  recently,  and  he  cannot  be  very 
far  away  now." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  know  through  people  who  saw  him.  Three  persons 
who  had  either  an  interest  in  Benisty  or  who  unfortu- 
nately interested  this  precious  swine,  have  mysteriously 
disappeared — one  of  them  being  a  girl!  By  the  way, 
you  know  her." 

The  Hon.  Bill  put  down  his  glass. 

"You  don't  mean  Ann  Trentham? — the  girl  we  saw 
at  Rimini's  that  day?  I  heard  she  was  doing  some 
Secret  Service  work  on  account  of  her  father,  and  that 
she  suspected  Benisty." 

"The  same.  She  and  I  had  become  allies.  She  told 
me  definitely  she  had  a  reason  for  trailing  Benisty — 
but  now  she's  vanished  from  her  hotel,  and  the  only 
clue  proved  false.  Benisty  has  got  her,  of  course — but 
where — where?  That's  the  question." 

The  British  Foreign  Office  official  rose. 

"I  must  get  away,"  he  said.  "The  atmosphere  of  this 
place  is  suffocating.  I  must  go  to  the  Embassy.  France 
is  being  dragged  into  this  thing,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes — she  will  be  in  such  a  position  that  to  keep  out 
will  prove  impossible." 

"All  the  police  and  the  Secret  Service  people  must  be 
employed — what  are  you  going  to  do?" 


AT  THE  LAPIN  BLANC  255 

Napoleon  Miles  smiled. 

"Get  back  to  your  Embassy,  Bill — I  am  going  to 
make  a  few  inquiries  on  my  own." 

The  two  parted  at  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  a  man  attired  as  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  types  of  Paris  Apache  looked  out 
of  a  window  in  a  tiny  flat  at  Montparnasse.  He  gazed 
long  and  appreciatively,  for  the  thought  came  that  he 
might  not  see  this  spectacle — fascinating  and  stimulat- 
ing as  it  was — again.  With  the  million  lights  twinkling, 
Paris  appeared  before  him  as  a  jewelled  garment 
stretching  further  than  the  eye  could  see. 

The  watcher  took  in  all  the  familiar  landmarks — - 
the  twin  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  the  imposing  majesty 
of  the  Invalides,  the  graceful  beauty  of  the  Eiffel 
Tower,  the  more  sombre  shadows  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Sulpice,  and  St.  Genevieve,  whilst,  catching  the  eye 
almost  immediately,  was  the  up-flung  black  dome  of 
the  Pantheon. 

Reluctantly  the  watcher  turned  away. 

An  hour  later — just  as  midnight  was  striking — he 
was  in  the  quarter  of  the  true  Apache,  and  he  had  only 
the  trustworthiness  of  his  disguise,  and  the  use  he 
could  make  of  the  knife  and  revolver  he  carried,  to  save 
him  from  a  particularly  nasty  death:  the  wolves  of 
Paris'  criminal  underworld  are  not  partial  to  strangers. 
They  have  a  freemasonry  of  their  own  which  is  very 
jealously  guarded. 


256  THE  BLACK  HEART 

It  was  only  after  much  difficulty  that  the  adventurer 
discovered  the  place  of  which  he  had  come  in  search. 
This  cafe,  above  which  flaunted  the  sign 

AU  LAPIN  BLANC, 

was  his  destination. 

It  was  hidden  in  the  shadows,  and  had  a  furtive, 
sinister  appearance  which  accorded  well  with  its  repu- 
tation. 

Miles,  after  making  sure  that  his  weapons  were  ready 
to  hand,  passed  through  the  entrance  and  down  some 
cellar  steps.  He  adopted  the  slouch  of  the  Apache  he 
was  impersonating  as  he  walked  into  a  long,  crowded 
room. 

Instantly  a  battery  of  keen,  inquisitive  eyes  were 
directed  at  him.  For  all  his  carefully-considered  make- 
up— amongst  other  things  he  was  wearing  a  dirty  grey 
sweater  buttoned  to  the  chin,  and  a  cloth  cap  pulled 
well  down  over  one  side  of  his  face — he  was  a  stranger 
and,  therefore,  a  subject  of  overt  suspicion.  Napoleon 
Miles  was  used  to  tight  corners,  but  his  heart  thumped 
uneasily  as  he  sat  down  at  an  empty  table. 

This  twenty- foot-long  cellar  was  crowded  with 
criminal  riff-raff.  Agents  of  the  Paris  Surete  would 
have  been  extremely  interested  in  the  men  and  women 
dancing  in  the  centre  of  the  room — had  they  been 
courageous  enough  to  penetrate  into  this  den. 

Some  of  those  drinking  crude  alcohol  were  but  boys. 
These,  however,  were  merely  the  apprentices — the  real 


AT  THE  LAPIN  BLANC  257 

craftsmen,  the  "professors,"  were  the  men  lounging 
against  the  grimy  walls  or  talking  round  the  small  round 
tables  which  encircled  the  dancing  floor.  Most  of  these 
men  were  dressed  in  black,  and,  beneath  the  huge 
peaked  caps,  the  leaden  pallor  of  their  vicious  faces 
showed  up  in  striking  relief. 

The  women  made  up  for  the  sombre  dressing  of  the 
men  by  wearing  jumpers  of  every  colour  in  the  rain- 
bow— green,  scarlet,  orange,  mauve :  these  flared  vividly 
in  the  garish  atmosphere. 

The  conversation  at  the  next  table  became  hushed 
into  a  suspicious  silence  as  the  newcomer,  beckoning 
a  coatless  waiter  whose  shirt  sleeves  were  almost  as 
dirty  as  his  face,  ordered  a  glass  of  that  pale  beer  which 
is  so  popular  with  the  Apache  who  wisely  discards  the 
forbidden  absinthe  or  the  almost  equally  potent  cognac. 

With  every  nerve  alert,  Miles  sipped  his  beer — a  vile 
concoction — and  stared  moodily  at  the  shifting  crowd 
of  dancers.  He  was  determined  to  stay,  although  his 
presence  might  cause  an  explosion  at  any  moment. 

Before  he  was  aware  what  had  happened,  someone 
had  joined  him.  It  was  a  girl  in  a  flame-coloured 
sweater,  unmistakable  in  her  type  and  class,  and  yet 
possessing  a  certain  illusive,  indefinite  charm. 

"Buy  me  a  drink,"  she  said  without  preamble. 

For  answer  Miles  signed  to  the  grimy-sleeved  waiter. 

"Brandy,"  ordered  the  girl. 

Napoleon  Miles  became  acutely  conscious  that  the 
arrival  of  this  girl  at  his  table  had  strengthened  the 


258  THE  BLACK  HEART 

original  hostility.  Btit  he  was  forced  to  await  events. 

"You  do  not  know  this  place?"  asked  the  girl,  sipping 
her  drink. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "I  come  from  Menilmontant. 
They  do  not  seem  to  like  strangers  here." 

"There  was  a  police-spy — un  mouchard — here  last 
week.  He  was  dressed  as  an  Apache.  They  found  him 
out.  Of  course,  he  was  killed."  Blowing  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  she  vouchsafed  the  information. 

"That  is  why  they  look  at  you  with  the  eyes  so  hard 
and  cold,  stranger,"  the  girl  continued.  "But  so  long 
as  I  am  with  you,  they  will  not  dare  to  do  anything! 
Come,  let  us  dance.  It  is  the  Chaloupe." 

He  realised  it  would  be  dangerous  to  refuse,  although 
he  had  very  little  idea  of  how  to  dance  the  famous 
Apache  measure ;  all  he  knew  was  that  the  dancers  held 
each  other  by  the  throat  and  swayed  sensuously  to  the 
music. 

The  next  minute  he  was  out  on  the  floor.  The 
orchestra  of  two — a  guitarist  and  a  violin-player — 
struck  up  a  fresh  tune,  and  the  dance  was  on. 

For  a  few  moments  the  disguised  Secret  Service  man 
forgot  his  worries.  His  partner  was  a  born  dancer,  and, 
being  naturally  light  on  his  feet,  he  soon  learned  the 
trick.  The  girl's  face  was  flushed  as  they  went  back  to 
their  table,  followed  by  a  hundred  questioning  eyes. 
"We  will  dance  again,"  she  said  in  compliment. 

By  some  weird  chance  Miles  realised  that  the 
recognised  queen  of  that  underworld  den  had  become 


AT  THE  LAPIN  BLANC  259 

interested  in  him.  This  interest  might  have  a  sinister 
interpretation,  of  course ;  the  girl  possibly  had  been  sent 
to  spy,  and  try  to  learn  his  business. 

When  he  looked  up  again,  this  view  was  strength- 
ened by  seeing  three  men  crossing  the  floor.  Their 
sullen,  lowering  expressions  warned  him,  and  he  would 
have  risen  from  his  seat  as  they  neared  the  table  if  the 
girl  had  not  touched  his  arm. 

"Do  not  show  any  fear,"  she  said;  "I  am  with  you." 

By  this  time  the  foremost  of  the  men  had  reached 
the  table.  He  was  a  brute-beast  of  a  man  with  a  hor- 
rible, bloated  face,  covered  with  bristles,  and  a  mouth 
full  of  broken  teeth. 

The  fellow's  coarse  lips  broke  into  a  snarl  as  he  saw 
the  girl's  hand  resting  on  her  companion's  arm. 

"Who  is  your  new  friend,  Germaine?"  he  sneered. 

"Find  out!"  was  the  snapped  answer;  "ask  him 
yourself." 

The  unshaven  brute  leered  unpleasantly  into  the  face 
of  Miles. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  the  Lapin  Blanc?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"Having  a  drink.  Go  to  hell!"  reolied  Miles  in  the 
same  argot. 

At  the  same  moment  he  rose  with  the  swiftness  of  a 
panther.  Something  had  snapped  inside  him.  The  vile 
breath  of  this  man  was  nauseating.  Flinging  his  body 
forward,  he  hit  the  fellow  clean  on  the  jaw  with  his 
clenched  fist.  It  was  the  action  of  a  madman,  but  he  felt 
he  did  not  care. 


26o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

The  next  instant  pandemonium  broke  out.  Cries  and 
curses  tore  the  air.  There  was  a  rush  in  his  direction. 

The  Apache  who  had  been  struck  was  lying  senseless 
on  the  floor ;  some  of  those  who  sought  to  avenge  him 
stumbled  over  his  body  as  they  ran. 

But  the  man  who  had  been  standing  on  his  left  drew 
a  knife.  With  a  vile  oath  he  leaped  straight  at  Miles. 

There  was  a  bewildering  flash  of  some  bright  colour. 
The  sound  of  a  shrill,  animal-like  scream  followed — 
and  then  a  burst  of  applause  that  threatened  to  lift  the 
roof  off  that  reeking  cellar. 

"I  told  you  I  was  with  you,"  said  the  girl  Germaine. 
Looking  at  her,  Napoleon  Miles  was  forced  to  blink 
his  eyes:  she  was  wiping  the  blade  of  a  long  knife, 
which  was  dripping  blood,  upon  the  inside  of  her  short 
skirt.  The  man  who  had  attacked  him  was  retreating 
across  the  room,  and  someone  was  already  bandaging 
his  right  arm. 

"You  hear!  Papa  Faucine,  the  patron,  is  cheering 
me  for  what  I  have  done,"  said  Germaine,  with  the  air 
of  a  pleased  child.  "There  will  be  no  more  trouble. 
They  know  now  that  you  are  my  friend.  They  will  not 
molest  you  again." 

Strange  as  was  the  situation,  the  girl  seemed  to  have 
spoken  the  truth.  Not  only  was  he  left  alone,  but  Miles 
noticed  that  the  crowded  company  appeared  to  have  a 
new  respect  for  him. 

Half-an-hour  passed,  and  then  a  great  shout  went 
up.  A  man  standing  at  the  entrance  to  the  dance- 
room  was  ironically  bowing  his  acknowledgments. 


AT  THE  LAPIN  BLANC  261 

"C'est  M.  le  Cure!"  announced  Germaine,  jubilantly 
clapping  her  hands. 

As  Napoleon  Miles  heard  the  voice,  he  stiffened 
mentally  to  attention:  here  was  the  very  man  he  had 
come  to  meet ! 


Chapter  XXVII 
"M.  LE  CURE" 

A  STORM  of  applause  broke  out  afresh  as  the 
man  came  into  the  room.  These  dwellers  in 
the  criminal  underworld  clustered  round, 
giving  him  a  vociferous  welcome.  Even  the  dancing 
stopped.  The  girl  by  Napoleon  Miles'  side  emitted  a 
shrill  cry. 

"Gaudet!"  she  called. 

At  the  sound  the  newcomer  turned  in  her  direction. 
Napoleon  Miles,  seeing  him  now  quite  clearly,  felt  a 
shudder  of  repulsion — this  man  carried  sheer  wicked- 
ness in  his  face.  He  bore  with  him  an  aura,  an  atmos- 
phere of  unspeakable  evil.  And  the  girl  Germaine  had 
called  him  "M.  le  cure"!  .  .  . 

The  man  was  now  only  a  yard  away  from  the  table, 
and  Germaine  had  rushed  to  meet  him.  It  was  a  horrible 
spectacle,  but  Miles  mastered  his  rising  gorge. 

"This,  Pierre,  is  a  new  friend — I  do  not  know  his 
name " 

"Bonet — Francois,"  supplied  Miles. 

"And  this  is" — she  burst  into  a  rising  tide  of  laugh- 
ter— "M.  le  cure."  The  title  seemed  to  appeal  to  the 

262 


"M.  LE  CURfi"  263 

speaker  as  being  irresistibly  funny.  "But,  come,  this  is 
an  occasion — Pierre  here  does  not  often  favour  us — we 
must  have  something  to  drink." 

It  was  Napoleon  Miles  who  paid  for  the  refresh- 
ment. Vile  as  this  newcomer  looked,  yet  he  was  the 
very  man  for  whom  he  was  searching  the  Paris  sewers 
of  crime — and  he  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  find 
him  without  much  difficulty. 

Gaudet  poured  a  glass  of  brandy  down  his  throat 
as  though  it  were  water.  Then  he  rose. 

"First,  a  dance,  Germaine!"  he  said. 

The  girl  darted  up.  Her  eyes  were  blazing.  It  was 
sickening,  and  yet  what  followed  gripped  the  watcher 
with  an  irresistible,  if  morbid,  fascination. 

The  orchestra  of  two  had  started  another  dance- 
tune.  It  was  a  tango  this  time,  and  the  throbbing,  puls- 
ing strains  acted  on  the  habitues  of  the  Lapin  Elanc 
like  an  intoxicating  drug. 

The  dance  which  Miles  saw  was  not  the  tango  that 
society  drawing-rooms  or  even  the  more  advanced 
night-clubs  knew ;  it  was  purely  elemental  and  primitive, 
and  the  dancers  abandoned  themselves  to  its  wild 
emotions. 

The  girl  Germaine  underwent  an  astonishing  change. 
Formerly  she  had  been  comparatively  civilised,  but 
directly  Gaudet  caught  her  to  him  in  the  first  passion- 
ate ecstasy  of  the  dance,  she  became  a  savage. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  almost  incredible  Gaudet 
had  selected  her  as  his  partner.  The  final  revelation 
came  when  Miles  saw  her  lips  pressed  tight  to  those 


264  THE  BLACK  HEART 

of  her  partner  as,  with  their  bodies  bent  double,  she 
and  the  ex-priest  flung  themselves  into  a  yet  quicker 
movement. 

Miles  had  seen  the  tango  danced  in  South  America 
and  in  Spanish  ports,  where  the  blood  mounts  quickly, 
but  he  had  never  witnessed  such  a  scene  as  this.  To 
give  a  more  macabre  touch,  the  lights  constantly 
changed — now  they  were  green,  then  white — a  mockery 
of  a  colour ! — and  then  again  a  blood-red  which  made 
the  swaying  figures,  uttering  hoarse,  guttural  cries  and 
shrill,  hysterical  screams,  look  like  denizens  in  the 
Bottomless  Pit. 

At  last,  with  a  final  mad  tempo  of  the  music,  this 
devil's  dance  was  done.  Panting  figures  leaned  against 
each  other  in  sheer  physical  and  nervous  exhaustion 
before  slouching  back  to  their  different  tables. 

"What  did  you  think,  my  friend?"  asked  Germaine, 
with  a  tantalising  grimace. 

"It  was  remarkable !"  replied  Miles. 

Germaine  acknowledged  the  compliment  with  another 
grimace,  before  bursting  into  a  ringing  laugh. 

"Yet,  who  would  expect  a  priest  to  dance  the  tango?" 
she  said. 

Miles  endeavoured  to  look  bewildered,  and  no  doubt 
succeeded. 

"An  ex-priest,  ma  mie,"  commented  Pierre  Gaudet. 
His  voice  was  hoarse  and  strained. 

The  girl  laughed  again. 

"You  are  a  stranger  to  the  Lapin  Blanc,"  looking  at 
Miles,  "and  so  you  do  not  know  the  story  of  Pierre. 


"M.  LE  CRUE"  265 

He  was  a  priest — that  is  why  everyone  still  calls  him 
'le  cure' — but,  there  was  an  'accident'  .  .  .  He  fell  in 
love — but  why  go  on,  my  friend?" 

Why  indeed?  Napoleon  Miles,  hating  himself, 
smirked  in  hypocritical  appreciation. 

"Come,  talk,  Pierre !  Why  are  you  so  glum  ?  Anyone 
would  think  that  you  were  going  to  the  Knife?" 

Urged  thus  by  the  girl,  the  ex-priest,  who  was 
already  half-drunk,  plunged  into  a  flood  of  reminis- 
cence. Man  of  the  world  though  he  was,  Napoleon 
Miles  would  have  risen  and  left  the  place  but  for  a 
remark  which  Gaudet  made  after  his  fifth  brandy. 

"And  there  is  another  job  for  me  to-morrow  night/' 
he  boasted.  "I  who  am  now  in  unholy  orders,  have  to 
go  to  a  certain  nobleman's  chateau,  there  to  perform  a 
pleasing  ceremony  for  an  English  milord." 

"You  are  to  perform  a  marriage  ceremony — is  that 
it?"  questioned  the  girl  Germaine. 

"Assuredly!"  smirked  the  ex-priest.  "It  will  not  be 
strictly  legal,  you  understand — but  what  of  that?" 

"And  this  English  milord — he  will  pay  you  well?" 
asked  Napoleon  Miles.  His  tone,  admirably  controlled 
as  it  was,  must  have  reflected  something,  for  Gaudet 
regarded  him  suspiciously. 

"I  don't  know  you,"  he  said,  with  a  foul,  blistering 
oath;  "keep  your  questions  to  yourself!" 

"Sacred  name  of  a  dog!"  expostulated  Germaine. 
"Have  I  not  already  answered  for  Fra^ois  here?  Of 
what  are  you  afraid?" 

Gaudet  emptied  his  glass. 


266  THE  BLACK  HEART 

"I  was  not  to  talk,"  he  said,  "and  here  I  am  talk- 
ing  .  .  ." 

Napoleon  Miles  leaned  across  the  small  table. 

"I  have  no  wish  to  know  your  business,  my  friend," 
he  said;  "that  class  of  thing  does  not  appeal  to  me.  I 
would  rather  stick  a  knife  in  a  police-agent's  throat — 
that  is  more  in  my  line.  But  the  night  is  young — and 
there  is  plenty  left  to  drink !" 

Under  the  soothing  influence  of  more  raw  brandy, 
Pierre  Gaudet  mellowed  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
forgot  his  suspicions.  An  hour  later  he  and  Francois 
Bonet  left  the  cafe  together. 


Chapter  XXVIII 
THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE 

SLOWLY  Chertsey  returned  to  consciousness. 
The  horrors  of  the  past  few  hours  had  made 
him  long  for  death,  but  the  instinctive  desire  to 
live  reasserted  itself  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  familiar 
sight  of  his  prison. 

They  must  have  flung  him  back  into  the  cellar  like  a 
sack  of  coal  after  that  damnable  torture,  for  he  lay 
sprawled  upon  the  floor. 

How  much  had  he  told  ?  Not  much,  he  was  convinced, 
for  it  had  been  a  case  of  his  will  against  Benisty's,  and 
he  had  resolved  to  hold  out. 

He  recalled  reading  once  how  much  it  took  to  kill  a 
man,  and,  fired  afresh  with  the  desire  to  live,  he  felt 
new  strength  returning  to  him  every  minute.  The  swine 
would  still  have  him  to  reckon  with — by  God! — if  he 
only  had  one  real  chance 

A  faint  click  caused  his  brain  to  be  on  the  alert. 
Caution  told  him  to  remain  still,  to  feign  unconscious- 
ness. 

A  part  of  the  cellar  wall,  only  a  foot  or  so  from  his 
head,  commenced  to  move — to  open 

Through  this  aperture  glided  a  man.  Chertsey,  look- 

267 


268  THE  BLACK  HEART 

ing  with  half-closed  eyes,  saw  that  it  was  one  of  the 
chateau  servants.  The  fellow  held  a  revolver  and  looked 
round  cautiously.  What  his  object  was  in  coming  to  the 
cellar  was  not  plain — perhaps  he  had  been  sent  to 
ascertain  if  the  prisoner  was  really  dead.  But  when  he 
saw  the  still  form  on  the  floor,  he  relaxed  a  good  deal 
of  his  caution. 

"They've  killed  him!"  Chertsey  heard  him  mutter, 
and  then  the  hireling,  as  though  to  make  sure,  stepped 
further  away  from  the  opening  and  into  the  cellar. 

The  next  moment  the  man  was  bending  over  him. 

He  had  to  act  quickly,  and  he  dared  not  fail.  Remem- 
bering a  trick  that  was  prevalent  when  he  was  a  boy  at 
school,  he  shifted  uneasily  as  though  in  pain,  and  then 
drove  his  clenched  fist  into  the  hollow  at  the  back  of 
the  man's  left  knee. 

The  result  of  this  schoolboy's  ruse  was  entirely  suc- 
cessful :  taken  unawares,  the  man  pitched  forward,  and 
his  foot  stumbling  against  Chertsey's  body,  he  fell 
headlong. 

Instantly  the  novelist  attacked  him,  pressing  a  knee 
into  the  man's  back  and  getting  a  grip  on  his  throat. 
His  desperate  need  made  him  ruthless — and  he  remem- 
bered what  he  had  suffered  from  Lefarge. 

The  man  squealed  and  struggled,  but  most  of  his 
courage  had  been  knocked  out  of  him  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  attack,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  lay 
still. 

The  first  thing  Chertsey  did  was  to  secure  the  re- 
volver which  had  dropped  from  the  man's  hand.  With 


THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE  269 

this  held  ready  for  use,  he  slipped  through  the  opening, 
and,  noticing  the  lever  which  controlled  the  mechanism, 
closed  it  carefully  behind  him. 

He  found  himself  in  a  long  and  broad  stone  cor- 
ridor, smelling  dank  and  stagnant.  What  a  place  to 
imprison  a  man ! 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  credit  that  he  was  really 
free  of  that  pest-house,  and  he  stopped  for  a  few 
moments  to  allow  the  truth  to  flood  through  him.  When 
he  moved  forward  he  had  two  resolves.  The  first  was 
to  reach  Washburn  Rinehart,  and  the  second  to  sell 
his  life  after  that  as  dearly  as  possible.  There  were  six 
bullets  in  that  revolver,  and  he  guaranteed  that  each  of 
these  should  find  a  proper  home. 

But  first  he  had  to  get  into  touch  with  his  uncle.  He 
might  wait  in  that  chilling  corridor  and  kill  six  men 
with  a  little  luck;  but  that,  apart  from  satisfying  his 
burning  sense  of  personal  vengeance,  would  serve  no 
useful  purpose;  ultimately  it  was  inevitable  that  he 
would  be  re-captured. 

Imprisoned  in  that  cellar,  he  had  not  been  able  to 
count  the  passing  of  time,  but  he  knew  that  every 
minute  was  valuable.  The  enemy  must  be  pushing  for- 
ward their  plans,  and  any  moment  the  blow  which  was 
to  convulse  Europe  and  turn  it  into  a  gigantic  shambles 
might  fall. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  corridor  was  a  small  winding 
stone  staircase.  Waiting  for  a  few  moments,  but  being 
reassured  by  the  deep  silence,  Chertsey  commenced  his 
journey  into  the  enemy's  lines.  He  expected  every 


270  THE  BLACK  HEART 

second  to  hear  the  thud  of  footsteps,  but  the  stillness 
was  so  intense  that  the  whole  Chateau  might  have  been 
deserted. 

Reaching  the  top  of  the  staircase,  his  questing  eyes 
saw  a  labyrinth  of  passages.  By  the  close,  fusty  smell 
which  prevailed,  he  guessed  he  was  still  underground. 

He  stopped  again.  There  were  a  dozen  ways  he  could 
take — and  each  one  might  lead  him  into  irretrievable 
danger.  Nevertheless,  he  had  to  go  on. 

Acting  on  impulse,  he  turned  to  the  left.  A  moment 
later,  he  could  have  shouted :  at  the  end  of  this  passage 
was  a  massive  staircase  leading  upwards.  Gripped  by  an 
exulting  excitement,  he  started  to  climb. 

Barrington  Snell  sidled  into  the  presence  of  the  man 
who  owned  him  body  and  soul. 

"He  still  refuses  to  talk,"  he  said. 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  looked  up  from  some  documents  he 
was  examining. 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  this  Rinehart  person  will 
have  cause  to  regret  his  obstinacy,"  he  remarked ;  "send 
Thibau  to  me,  will  you?" 

Ten  minutes  later  Benisty  and  the  pale  shadow  of  a 
satellite  whom  he  had  described  as  a  Paris  specialist, 
stood  looking  down  at  the  American  envoy. 

"I  am  reluctant  to  disturb  you  again,  Mr.  Rinehart, 
but  the  truth  is,  time  presses.  Moreover,  I  am  not 
concerned  alone  in  this  matter;  those  who  work  with 
me  have  given  their  vote  and  I  am  obliged  to  carry 
out  their  wishes." 


THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE  271 

The  man  bound  to  the  bed  glared. 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want  now?"  he  demanded; 
"let  me  tell  you  once  again,  Benisty,  that  every  minute 
you  keep  me  here  against  my  will,  so  does  your  own 
peril  increase.  The  Secret  Services  of  Great  Britain  and 
France  will  be  combing  Paris  for  me." 

Sir  Luke  Benisty  politely  stifled  what  might  have 
been  a  yawn. 

"Permit  me  to  remind  you  once  again,  my  dear 
Rinehart,  that  this  is  not  Paris.  In  this  Chateau,  fring- 
ing a  great  forest  and  situated  in  a  particularly  inacces- 
sible region,  you  are  as  remote  from  the  Paris,  where 
certainly  a  search  may  be  proceeding  for  you,  as  though 
you  were  in  the  wilds  of  Newfoundland  or  Canada.  But 
enough :  as  I  have  already  said,  time  presses ;  and  I  did 
not  come  here  to  bandy  words." 

The  bound  man  continued  to  glower,  but  he  made  no 
further  comment. 

"What  you  are  requested  to  do,  Mr.  Rinehart," — 
the  voice,  silky  before,  was  now  almost  a  snarl — "is 
this.  We  want  a  full  and  detailed  account  of  the  exact 
reason  why  you  came  to  Europe;  together  with  full 
data  of  the  proofs  you  brought.  The  papers  in  the  now 
notorious  oilskin  packet  not  being  forthcoming,  you 
will  have  to  rely  upon  your  memory.  Be  careful  that 
does  not  fail  you — for,  by  God,  if  it  happens  to  do  so 
in  the  slightest  degree,  you  will  suffer  for  the  lapse." 

The  answer  came  in  a  choking  gasp. 

"You  will  get  nothing  from  me,  Benisty.  You  have 
tortured  my  nephew,  and  perhaps  by  this  time  have 


272  THE  BLACK  HEART 

killed  him,  but  I  can  tell  from  your  manner  that  he 
has  not  talked.  Like  me,  he  recognises  that  countries 
come  before  men  in  a  crisis  like  this — do  your  worst, 
you  dog,  and  be  damned  to  you !" 

It  was  a  courageous  speech  for  a  man  of  late  middle- 
age,  desperately  weak  through  want  of  food,  lack  of 
sleep  and  previous  torturings,  to  make,  and  Benisty 
recognised  it.  But  time  pressed,  and  he  had  received  his 
definite  and  very  explicit  orders  from  the  Germans  and 
Russians  who  ruled  over  him.  .  .  . 

He  signed  to  Thibau,  who  came  quietly  to  his  side. 

"This  man,"  he  told  Rinehart  solemnly,  indicating 
the  pale  shadow,  "has  studied  the  human  anatomy ;  he 
used  to  be  an  assistant  to  a  famous  Paris  nerve- 
specialist.  He  knows  a  great  deal  about  pain — how  much 
the  human  system  can  stand,  for  instance — and  how  to 
inflict  it.  For  the  last  time,  Rinehart,  I  give  you  your 
chance.  Refuse,  and " 

"I  do  refuse!" 

"You  are  very  foolish.  Now  it  is  just  a  question  of 
time.  I  have  a  notebook  here,  and  in  it  I  shall  write  the 
answers  you  will  give  me  to  various  questions. 
Thibau.  .  .  ." 

But  before  the  slinking,  pallid-faced  torturer  could 
apply  his  fiendish  persuasion,  a  man  burst  violently 
into  the  room.  It  was  Sobinov.  The  Russian  carried  a 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  was  almost  distraught  with 
passion. 

"Leave  this  fool  now,  Benisty!"  he  cried.  "I  want 
to  see  you  on  a  vital  matter." 


THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE  273 

The  wild  light  which  had  been  in  Sir  Luke  Benisty's 
eyes  died  down.  He  made  a  sign  to  Thibau,  who  slipped 
away.  A  minute  later,  Washburn  Rinehart  was  alone: 
Benisty  had  followed  Sobinov  out  of  the  room. 

The  American  groaned — and  then  remained  still.  The 
door  was  opening  quietly  and  cautiously.  A  man  who 
looked  merely  the  ghost  of  his  former  self  came  noise- 
lessly to  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"Gilbert!" 

"Hush!"  came  the  warning  reply;  "they  had  me 
locked  in  a  filthy  cellar  and  I  have  only  just  managed 
to  escape.  Uncle,  I'm  going  to  get  help — I'm  going  to 
get  you  away." 

Rinehart  answered  quickly. 

"I  do  not  matter,  boy — what  does  matter  is  pre- 
venting the  hell  which  these  devils  are  brewing  from 
breaking  loose.  Where  is  that  oilskin  packet?  Safe,  I 
hope?  You  didn't  have  it  on  you?" 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  uncle :  it's  safe." 

"You  must  send  a  message  to  the  American  Embassy, 
Gilbert." 

"Yes— but  how?" 

Washburn  Rinehart's  worn  face  reflected  his  eager- 
ness. 

"They  have  wireless  near  here.  I  have  often  heard 
messages  being  sent.  Seems  to  come  from  this  direc- 
tion," glancing  to  the  left.  "Wish  I  could  tell  you 
exactly  where  it  is " 

"Don't  worry;  I'll  find  it." 

"You  must  not  be  caught  here !"  hoarsely  whispered 


274  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Rinehart,  in  a  sudden  frenzy  of  apprehension.  "Do  you 
know  anything  about  wireless? — how  to  send  a  mes- 
sage, I  mean?" 

"Yes,  thank  the  Lord !  Last  year  I  thought  of  writing 
a  wireless  novel,  and  I  studied  the  whole  business  pretty 
thoroughly.  Had  a  course  of  special  instruction.  Look 
here,  what  shall  I  say?" 

"Bend  down :  I'll  tell  you  the  code  words." 

It  was  a  tense  situation.  But  both  forgot  the  chance 
of  being  interrupted  in  the  urgency  of  the  moment. 

"Repeat  what  I  have  said !"  said  Washburn  Rinehart ; 
and  when  his  nephew  had  done  so,  he  added  the  one 
word:  "Good!" 

"Uncle,"  said  Chertsey,  as  he  rose  to  go,  "I  am 
leaving  you  this  revolver.  If  the  worst  comes  to  the 

worst "  He  stopped,  before  continuing:  "Directly 

I  have  sent  off  that  wireless  message  I  intend  to  leave 
the  Chateau  somehow  or  other  so  that  I  can  get  help. 
But  if  I  don't  succeed "  Again  he  paused. 

"I  understand,  my  boy.  But  what  about  yourself?" 

"I  have  another  gun,"  lied  Chertsey. 

Half  way  to  the  door  he  stopped. 

"What  a  fool !"  he  said.  "I  forgot  you  could  not  use 
your  hands."  He  rapidly  untied  the  rope  which  bound 
Rinehart's  hands  and  arms.  "If  they  come  in,  kid  them 
that  you  are  still  helpless,"  he  went  on;  "hide  the  gun 
beneath  the  clothes." 

"Good-bye,  Gilbert." 

The  novelist  bent  down  and  touched  the  speaker's 
forehead  with  his  lips. 


THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE  275 

"I'll  do  my  best,  old  chap,"  he  promised. 

Once  outside  he  turned  quickly  to  the  left.  So  far  as 
he  had  been  able  to  ascertain  from  observations  made 
during  his  long  climb  upwards,  he  was  now  in  one  of 
the  turret  towers  of  the  Chateau.  Walking  down  the 
passage,  which  was  flanked  on  either  side  by  many 
doors,  he  heard  faintly  the  unmistakable  sounds  of 
"wireless."  That  crackling  noise  fired  him  with  a  won- 
derful buoyancy. 

He  located  the  door,  and  quietly  opened  it.  The  man 
with  his  back  to  him  was  so  absorbed  with  his  instru- 
ment that  Chertsey  was  inside  the  room  before  the 
operator  was  aware  of  the  intrusion. 

The  fellow  jumped  up  quickly,  his  hand  groping  for 
the  revolver  which  lay  on  the  small  table  to  his  right. 

The  man's  fingers  never  closed  on  the  weapon,  for 
with  a  silent  but  deadly  spring,  Chertsey  leapt.  Before 
the  cry  which  welled  to  the  other's  lips  could  be  given 
utterance,  the  novelist's  fingers,  used  by  this  time  to 
such  work,  closed  round  the  man's  throat.  Two  minutes 
later  the  wireless  operator  lay  an  inert  mass  on  the 
floor. 

Chertsey's  first  task  was  to  lock  the  door,  and  then, 
marvelling  at  his  self-possession,  he  commenced  to  strip 
the  uniform  from  the  unconscious  man  who  was  wear- 
ing the  same  livery  as  the  Chateau  servants.  He  was 
reluctant  to  spare  even  these  few  minutes,  but  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  door  he  had  locked 
was  stoutly  made  and  likely  to  resist  any  attack  for 
some  considerable  time. 


276  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Before  seating  himself  at  the  instrument,  he  looked 
round  the  room.  There  was  a  large  curtained  recess  in 
the  far  corner,  and  to  this  he  dragged  the  body  of  the 
operator  whose  upper  clothes  he  was  now  wearing.  By 
the  side  of  the  unconscious  man  he  laid  his  own  clothes 
which  by  now  had  become  thoroughly  disreputable. 

The  curtains  re-drawn  across  the  recess,  he  rushed 
to  the  instrument.  Hesitating  for  a  moment  to  recall 
the  words  of  the  private  code,  he  then  sent  the  message, 
which  was  destined  to  save  Europe  from  a  ghastly  fate, 
into  the  ether. 

Half  way  through  the  message,  he  started  convul- 
sively. Someone  was  hammering  on  the  door.  To  hell 
with  them — whoever  it  was !  He  continued  at  his  task. 

That  done,  he  decided  on  a  bold  strategy.  The  only 
way  out  of  that  room  was  through  the  door —  and  that 
was  the  route  he  intended  to  take!  Turning  the  key 
in  the  lock,  he  flung  the  door  suddenly  open.  A  man 
whose  face  was  livid  rushed  in.  He  was  cursing  fluently 
in  a  foreign  tongue,  but  apart  from  this  was  not  a 
pleasant  sight. 

"Why  did  you  not  open?"  he  demanded,  fiercely. 

Standing  sideways  to  the  door,  Chertsey  swiftly 
backed,  pulling  the  door  hard  after  him.  The  key  which 
he  had  been  holding  in  his  right  hand  was  inserted  in 
the  lock,  turned  and  then  withdrawn.  The  next  moment 
he  was  racing  down  the  passage,  the  furious  cursing  of 
the  imprisoned  man  lending  him  speed. 

A  caution  born  out  of  the  terrible  responsibility  that 
rested  upon  him  made  him  slacken  into  a  normal  walk 


THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE  277 

as  he  turned  the  corridor.  The  journey  to  the  outside 
world  was  fraught  with  sufficient  danger  without  draw- 
ing unnecessary  attention  to  himself.  Unless  he  met 
Benisty  or  one  of  his  intimates,  his  servant's  uniform 
should  allay  any  open  or  casual  suspicion. 

Descending  the  first  flight  of  a  noble  staircase,  he 
noticed  a  tray  holding  glasses  standing  on  a  small  table 
outside  a  room  from  which  issued  the  sound  of  voices. 
That  tray  might  be  valuable  camouflage.  Picking  it  up, 
he  proceeded  down  the  winding  stairway. 

He  had  descended  two  more  flights  when,  turning  a 
corner,  he  found  himself  confronted  by  a  paunchy  per- 
son who  was  possibly  a  butler.  This  man  blazed  away 
at  him  in  voluble  French.  The  only  part  of  the  tirade 
that  the  novelist  could  understand  was  why  he,  the 
nameless  son  of  a  nameless  mother,  hadn't  used  the 
service  stairs.  His  face  averted  as  much  as  possible, 
Chertsey  walked  on  with  a  muttered  "pardon!" 

A  hand  fell  heavily  on  his  shoulder. 

"You're  not  Guilliame! — who  in  the  name  of  ten 
thousand  devils  are  you?"  The  inquisitor's  voice  was 
strained  by  suspicion. 

Chertsey  felt  it  was  useless  to  reply  in  words.  There 
was  not  time  for  that.  Besides,  he  realised  that  any 
verbal  answer  was  sure  to  be  unsatisfactory:  his  ques- 
tioner, who  must  be  the  major-domo  of  the  Chateau, 
had  thought  at  first  that  he  was  on  the  household  staff, 
but  had  now  been  undeceived. 

Chertsey's  left  knee  shot  upwards.  It  met  the  butler's 
stomach  with  agonising  impact.  The  man's  hand  re- 


278  THE  BLACK  HEART 

leased  his  grip  on  the  tray,  which  fell  with  a  crash  to 
the  stone  floor. 

He  could  not  afford  to  walk  any  longer:  he  had  to 
run!  And,  with  the  outraged  butler  shrieking  behind 
him,  he  took  to  his  heels.  The  situation  might  have  been 
comical  in  any  other  circumstances. 

Taking  the  remaining  stairs  three  at  a  time,  Chertsey 
knocked  aside  a  man  who  tried  to  detain  him,  and  made 
straight  for  an  open  door.  Darkness  had  already  come, 
but  through  that  door  he  knew  lay  Freedom. 

He  emerged  into  a  circular  space.  At  some  little  dis- 
tance away  stood  a  long,  lean  motor-car,  whose  engine 
evidently  possessed  tremendous  power. 

A  car !  With  that  he  could  reach  Paris.   .   .   . 

A  man  wearing  chauffeur's  uniform  came  running 
towards  him,  but  he  swerved  like  a  Rugby  footballer, 
reached  the  door  of  the  giant  roadster  and  flung  himself 
into  the  driver's  seat. 

A  series  of  verbal  explosions  from  the  chauffeur 
mingled  with  the  roar  of  the  engine  as  Chertsey  un- 
leashed its  power. 

The  car  shot  forward  like  a  grey  thunderbolt.  Nar- 
rowly escaping  a  collision  with  one  of  the  great  stone 
pillars  at  the  end  of  the  drive,  the  escaping  man  took 
the  corner  on  the  rims  of  two  wheels,  and,  with  a 
challenging  roar,  sped  into  the  narrow  road. 

Chertsey  had  travelled  perhaps  ten  miles  before  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  might  be  going  away  from 
Paris  instead  of  approaching  the  Capital.  Preoccupied, 


THE  WIRELESS  MESSAGE  279 

he  failed  to  notice  a  warning  horn-blast  that  came  from 
the  left  of  a  network  of  crossroads. 

The  next  moment  a  red-coloured  monster  tore  into 
the  side  of  the  purloined  car;  he  felt  himself  lifted  high 
above  the  deafening  crash  of  the  impact,  and  then 
everything  was  blotted  out. 

Sir  William  Bagot,  British  Ambassador  at  Paris, 
looked  across  the  big  mahogany  table  at  the  group  of 
grave-faced  listeners. 

"We  must  find  these  men,"  he  said,  impressively.  "It 
is  not  too  much  to  add  that  the  lives  of  millions  depend 
on  our  rinding  them — and  finding  them  soon.  Thank 
God,  we  can  avert  the  greater  mischief — the  possibility 
of  our  being  taken  entirely  by  surprise — but  who  knows 
what  further  devilry  these  people  may  be  brewing  ?  And 
there  is  the  fate  of  Mr.  Washburn  Rinehart  to  be  con- 
sidered. Gentlemen,  we  must  act  promptly." 

M.  Paul  Lenoir,  the  Chief  of  the  French  Secret 
Service,  threw  up  his  hand  in  a  gesture  of  despair, 
peculiarly  Gallic. 

"Have  we  not  done  everything  possible,  Sir  Will- 
iam ?"  he  asked ;  "Paris  has  been  combed — but  there  is 
no  trace  of  any  of  these  men.  Perhaps  they  are  all  out 
of  the  country  by  this  time." 

The  important  representative  from  the  American 
Embassy  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"Rinehart  must  be  found!  The  President  is  raising 
all  kinds  of  hell  with  us,"  he  declaimed. 

"And  when  we  find  Mr.  Rinehart,  we  shall  find  the 


28o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

keys  to  all  the  remaining  puzzles,"  replied  Sir  William 
Bagot. 

M.  Paul  Lenoir  gesticulated  animatedly. 

"One  cannot  discover  what  is  not  there,"  he  declared. 
From  his  manner  he  might  have  been  meeting  a  charge 
of  incompetence. 

Without  ceremony  the  door  burst  open  and  a  man 
rushed  into  the  room.  He  was  wild-eyed  with  excite- 
ment. It  was  the  Hon.  William  Summers. 

"I  know  where  the  swine  are  to  be  found,  sir!"  he 
cried,  looking  at  Sir  William  Bagot.  "I've  just  come 
from  the  American  Embassy.  They've  received  a 
mysterious  wireless  message." 

The  British  Ambassador  did  not  forget  his  early 
training  as  a  diplomat. 

"Sit  down,  Summers,"  he  remarked,  quietly,  "and 
explain  what  you  mean." 

The  Hon.  Bill  remained  standing  as  he  burst  into  a 
fresh  flood  of  excited  talk. 


Chapter  XXIX 
BENISTY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND 

FOR  perhaps  the  fortieth  time,  Ann  looked  round 
her  prison.  This  was  a  small  room,  perched  high 
up.  So  much  she  was  able  to  see  out  of  the 
one  barred  window.  To  the  left  stretched  a  dense  forest, 
to  the  right  the  cliffs  of  sinister  memory  which  Benisty 
had  mentioned. 

And  somewhere  in  this  same  Chateau  was  Gilbert 
Chertsey  awaiting  a  fate  so  horrible  that  it  revolted  the 
mind. 

She  considered  the  question :  Could  she  by  any  sacri- 
fice save  Chertsey's  life?  No  doubt  Benisty  would 
listen — or  pretend  to  listen — but  he  would  be  bound 
to  be  faithless  to  his  bargain.  He  was  that  type. 

The  only  chance  rested  with  Napoleon  Miles.  Had 
he  gone  to  the  hotel  in  the  Rue  Caumartin  as  arranged  ? 
And  had  he  been  given  her  note?  If  by  any  chance 
that  note  had  miscarried  or  fallen  into  the  wrong  hands, 
then  all  hope  was  gone.  With  so  much  at  stake,  Benisty 
would  be  entirely  ruthless. 

The  thought  brought  a  memory  back  to  her — a  recol- 
lection so  grotesque  and  yet  so  revolting  that  she  felt 
her  heart  stop  beating  for  a  second. 

281 


282  THE  BLACK  HEART 

What  was  it  Benisty  had  said?  He  had  had  her 
brought  to  the  Chateau  to  marry  her!  ...  At  the 
time  she  had  thought  little  of  it — the  notion  was  so 
impossibly  fantastic  that  she  could  not  take  it  seriously. 
And  then  her  indignation  had  kept  her  courage  up  to 
boiling  point.  But  now,  there  was  a  locked  door,  a 
barred  window  and  a  strongly-defined  sense  of  ap- 
proaching disaster  to  keep  her  blood  chilled. 

It  was  this  waiting  which  was  so  numbing,  so  nerve- 
wracking.  She  must  have  been  in  the  Chateau  for  nearly 
twenty- four  hours,  for  darkness  was  now  brushing  the 
outside  world  with  its  wings.  Food  and  drink  had  been 
brought  her,  but  she  had  scarcely  touched  either.  Rather 
than  be  under  any  obligation  to  that  man  she  would 
starve. 

For  all  her  youth  and  beauty  she  was  used  to  dis- 
appointment, but  the  supreme  irony  of  this  hour  gibed 
at  her  remorselessly.  She  had  solved  the  mystery  of  her 
father's  death  only  to  know  that  the  information  would 
be  turned  not  against  the  man  she  had  sworn  to  bring 
to  justice,  but  against  herself — and  the  man  she  loved! 
For  his  own  self -protection  Benisty  would  not  allow 
either  of  them  to  go. 

They  would  all  die  together — Gilbert  Chertsey, 
Washburn  Rinehart  and  herself.  But,  no,  she  would 
not  die;  she  would  not  be  allowed  to  share  the  other's 
fate.  Benisty  was  going  to  marry  her.  .  .  .  The  fact 
stabbed  her  relentlessly  a  second  time. 

This  suspense  was  unendurable.  It  would  drive  her 
mad.  If  only  she  could  know  something.  .  .  . 


BENISTY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND         283 

As  though  Fate  had  decided  to  answer  her  appeal, 
the  door  opened.  Sir  Luke  Benisty  and  a  pale,  insignifi- 
cant, slinking  shadow  of  a  man  entered. 

Benisty  was  dressed  as  though  for  a  wedding. 

"You  will  wait  outside,  Thibau,"  he  said  to  his 
companion. 

"So  now  you  know  the  reason  of  my  call,"  said 
Sir  Luke  Benisty,  ten  minutes  later.  "I  regret  not  being 
able  to  give  you  more  notice,  but  events  have  occurred 
with  somewhat  startling  rapidity  in  the  Chateau  to- 
night." 

"They  will  occur  with  even  more  rapidity  during  the 
next  few  hours,"  Ann  replied.  She  had  only  her  un- 
conquerable faith  to  go  upon,  but  she  would  stand 
up  to  Benisty  as  long  as  she  had  the  strength. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  The  words  had  gone 
home.  Looking  at  him  intently,  Ann  thought  she  saw 
a  change,  well-concealed  and  yet  unmistakable.  Some- 
thing had  shaken  the  man.  He  was  trying  hard  to  hide 
it,  but  even  his  usual  incomparable  aplomb  was  not 
sufficient  disguise. 

"Mean?"  she  repeated.  "What  should  I  mean  but 
that  the  arrest  of  you  and  your  abominable  fellow- 
criminals  is  now  merely  a  question  of  time?  Didn't  I 
warn  you  to  this  effect  yesterday?  Since  then  the 
French  police  and  the  British  authorities  will  have  been 
able  to  effect  their  plans." 

She  kept  her  voice  steady,  her  expression  brave,  pray- 


284  THE  BLACK  HEART 

ing  that  Benisty  would  not  realise  she  was  merely 
bluffing. 

"All  this  is  very  intriguing,  my  dear  Miss  Trent- 
ham,"  was  the  comment,  "but  I  would  suggest  that  as 
you  are  shortly  to  be  joined  to  my  unworthy  self  in  the 
holy  bonds  of  matrimony,  you  should  endeavour  to 
cultivate  a  more  amiable  view  of  your  future  hus- 
band." 

She  faced  him  resolutely. 

"Yesterday  I  told  you  I  would  rather  kill  myself 
than  allow  you  to  come  near  me." 

"Sheer,  hysterical  nonsense,  my  dear !  But,  of  course, 
you  are  not  yourself;  you  can  scarcely  realise  what 
you  are  saying.  Listen,  please,"  he  went  on,  as  she  was 
about  to  voice  her  further  indignant  contempt,  "I  have 
very  little  time  to  spare.  Apart  entirely  from  your 
nonsensical  threats — which,  of  course,  are  based  upon 
fallacy — the  time  is  rapidly  approaching  when  this 
highly  interesting  house  party  must  be  broken  up.  The 
campaign  which  is  to  change  the  whole  face  of  Europe, 
has  been  planned  to  the  last  detail  and  now  the  General 
Staff  must  separate. 

"Unlike  the  others,  I  intend  to  take  no  further  part. 
I  have  had  an  active  life,  and  now  I  propose  to  rest, 
idling  my  time  away  in  the  sunshine  of  some  cosmo- 
politan clime  and  in  the  smiles  of  the  most  beautiful 
woman  I  have  ever  seen."  He  bowed  to  her  before  con- 
tinuing, and  Ann,  aghast  at  his  effrontery,  for  the 
moment  could  find  no  words. 

"I  have  communicated  my  wish  to  my  principals 


BENISTY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND         285 

in  this  affair,  and  they  have  signified  their  approval. 
They  recognise,  I  am  glad  to  say,  the  important  part  I 
have  played  in  the  present  proceedings,  and — not  to 
put  too  fine  a  point  on  it — I  am  now  a  rich  man " 

"Rich  with  blood  money !" 

"Come,  come !  That  is  not  the  way  in  which  to  treat 
your  future  husband.  I  have  stood  a  good  deal  from 
you,  my  dear,  but  I  warn  you  that  I  have  my 
limit." 

"Limit!  You  talk  to  me  of  a  'limit!'  "  The  anger 
which  she  had  endeavoured  to  check,  overflowed. 
"You — my  father's  murderer — stand  there  calmly  pro- 
posing that  I  shall  marry  you !  I  warn  you  now,  Benisty, 
that  should  the  help  I  am  expecting  come  too  late,  I 
shall  take  the  first  opportunity  to  kill  you !" 

"I  admire  your  spirit,"  he  told  her.  "It  is  so  rarely 
nowadays  that  one  meets  a  woman  with  any  real  spirit. 
I  confess,  my  darling  Ann,  you  add  enormously  to 
your  appeal  by  displaying  so  much  delightful  anima- 
tion." 

Swiftly  his  bantering  mood  changed.  The  natural 
devil  now  showed  in  his  eyes  and  face. 

"Thibau!"  he  called. 

Ann  sprang  forward  as  the  door  opened.  But  Benisty, 
as  though  anticipating  the  action,  seized  her  round 
the  waist. 

She  fought  with  the  determination  of  a  desperate 
woman,  but  it  was  a  case  of  two  men  against  a  girl, 
and  the  struggle  was  too  unequal  to  last  long.  Ann  felt 


286  THE  BLACK  HEART 

something  sharp  prick  her  arm,  and  the  power  to  re- 
sist died  away. 

"How  are  you  feeling  now  ?" 

The  voice  was  undoubtedly  that  of  an  Englishman. 
Chertsey,  looking  up  at  the  speaker,  experienced  a 
feeling  of  hope  that  was  almost  suffocating.  Whoever 
the  man  might  prove  to  be,  he  travelled  with  a  big 
party — there  were  about  a  dozen  other  men  standing 
about — and  he  was  British! 

"You  crashed  into  my  car — was  that  it?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  I'm  most  awfully  sorry.  But  I  am  afraid  you 
didn't  sound  your  horn,  old  chap,  and  I  was  in  a  devil 
of  a  hurry." 

"So  was  I.  It  was  my  fault  entirely.  Look  here," 
with  a  sudden  impulse,  "do  you  mind  telling  me  who 
you  are?" 

The  other  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"Any  particular   reason  why  you   should  know?" 

Chertsey  sprang  up.  He  might  have  been  killed, 
but  the  miracle  was  that  apart  from  a  throbbing  in 
his  head,  he  felt  none  the  worse  for  the  collision. 

"My  God,  I  have!"  he  said.  "I've  just  escaped  from 
a  chateau  a  few  miles  away  from  here.  There  is  a 
hellish  plot  against  the  safety  of  England  and  France 
being  hatched  there." 

The  listener  seized  his  arm. 

"Is  your  name  Chertsey?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes — but  how  did  you  guess  ?  I  had  to  pinch  these 
clothes  off  a  servant  in  order  to  get  away." 


BENISTY  SHOWS  HIS  HAND         287 

The  other's  excitement  increased. 

"A  fellow  named  Napoleon  Miles — an  American 
Secret  Service  man — has  mentioned  your  name  to  me." 
He  paused.  "Then  it  was  you  who  sent  the  wireless 
warning  in  code  to  the  American  Embassy!  By  Jove, 
Chertsey,  I'm  damned  glad  to  meet  you!  My  name's 
Summers.  I'm  of  the  British  Foreign  Office." 

"I  was  almost  beginning  to  think  that  Providence 
had  stopped  working,"  replied  the  novelist.  "Where 
were  you  going  with  these  men?  Who  are  they?" 

The  Hon.  Bill  Summers  caught  him  by  the  shoulder. 

"We  were  on  our  way  to  the  Chateau  de  Montais," 
he  said.  "These  chaps  are  French  and  British  Secret 
Service  Johnnies,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  placed  in 
charge  of  them  and  given  definite  instructions  to  get 
into  the  place  and  arrest  everyone  inside.  If  you  were 
trekking  to  Paris  for  help,  you  needn't  go  any  further. 
It's  here:  join  the  storming  party!" 

As  Chertsey  got  into  the  speaker's  car — the  purloined 
roadster  was  more  or  less  a  wreck — he  felt  that  he 
had  received  a  Sign  from  Heaven. 


Chapter  XXX 
THE  PRIEST  WHO  LEERED 

BACK  at  the  Chateau  de  Montais,  a  heated 
conference  was  being  held.  Sobinov,  the  Rus- 
sian, who  had  not  yet  recovered  from  his  en- 
forced sojourn  in  the  wireless-room,  was  very  animated 
in  his  criticisms.  Most  of  these  were  directed  at  Sir 
Luke  Benisty. 

The  latter  allowed  the  storm  to  pass  over  him. 

"I  refuse  to  take  the  responsibility  for  Chertsey 
getting  away,"  he  said;  "it  was  not  by  my  orders  that 
the  servant  visited  him  in  the  cellar.  I  would  remind  you 
all  that  what  I  have  promised  I  would  do,  I  have  done. 
Now  my  connection  with  this  affair  ends."  Shrugging 
his  shoulders,  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  left  the  room. 
He  might  have  added  that  in  any  case  he  had  a  private 
engagement  in  another  part  of  the  Chateau. 

In  that  dim  light  the  Chateau  de  Montais,  perched  on 
its  towering  height,  looked  like  some  evil  image  in 
stone.  And,  regarding  it,  Chertsey  felt  a  wave  of  dread 
sweeping  through  him :  was  it  a  live  or  dead  Washburn 
Rinehart  that  he  would  meet  inside? 

A  hand  touched  his  arm. 
288 


THE  PRIEST  WHO  LEERED  289 

"Get  a  hold  of  this  gun,  old  man,"  Bill  Summers 
said,  passing  him  a  revolver. 

"How  are  we  to  get  in  ?  They  will  be  expecting  some- 
thing or  other." 

Summers  chuckled — grimly. 

"Don't  worry  about  that,"  he  rejoined;  "one  of 
the  French  fellows  spent  his  boyhood  in  this  neighbour- 
hood and  he  knows  every  inch  of  the  ground.  What  is 
more,  he  knows  what  he  says  is  a  secret  way  in.  Ah! 
Here  he  is."  A  dapper-looking  but  determined  man  in 
the  early  thirties  approached  and  engaged  the  chief 
of  the  storming  party  in  rapid  conversation. 

While  the  two  were  talking  together,  another  man — 
a  stranger — approached  Chertsey. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  but  I'm  Dwight — Mr.  Washburn 
Rinehart's  valet.  Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  Mr. 
Rinehart,  sir?  Naturally,  I'm  anxious." 

"I  can  only  tell  you  that  when  I  left  the  Chateau 
a  couple  of  hours  ago,  Mr.  Rinehart  was  still  alive.  I 
had  to  leave  to  get  help.  How  did  you  come  over  ?" 

"I  became  worried  when  I  received  no  word  from 
my  master,  and  so  crossed  to  Paris.  There  I  went  to 
the  American  Embassy.  When  the  remarkable  news 
came  through  from  you,  sir,  to-night,  I  was  permitted 
to  accompany  the  party." 

The  talk  was  interrupted. 

"This  way — quietly!"  ordered  the  Hon.  Bill  Sum- 
mers. 

A  minute  later  Chertsey  plunged  with  the  rest  into 
a  miniature  forest  of  undergrowth. 


29o  THE  BLACK  HEART 

This  must  be  a  dreadful  dream!  She  moved  and 
had  her  being — but  she  had  no  control  over  her  ac- 
tions. This  brutal  woman  who  was  acting  as  her  maid, 
was  forcing  her  to  do  what  she  liked. 

Ann  put  a  hand  up  to  her  forehead.  If  only  she  could 
think  clearly!  If  only  she  could  regain  her  will! 

"Put  this  dress  on!"  ordered  the  woman  who  domi- 
nated her. 

"Why  should  I?"  she  heard  herself  ask  in  a  weak, 
trembling  voice. 

"Because,  you  little  fool,  you  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried .'—that's  why !" 

Married ! 

Married — to  whom? 

Everything  was  spinning  round.  Hope — a  wild, 
frenzied  hope,  born  of  unutterable  despair — gripped  her 
so  tightly  that  she  felt  she  would  faint.  Suppose  some 
miracle  had  happened!  Suppose  Gilbert,  by  some 
magical  means,  had  gained  a  mastery  in  the 
Chateau,  and  .  .  . 

Then  she  sobbed.  She  realised  the  gnawing  truth. 
Although  the  drug  she  had  been  given  still  maintained 
its  hold  over  her  will,  her  brain  was  clearing.  The  real 
meaning  of  this  mocking  masquerade  became  plain: 
Benisty,  before  he  left  the  Chateau,  was  staging  another 
"entertainment"  in  order  to  satisfy  his  sense  of  mali- 
cious jesting. 

"Put  on  these  clothes !" 

It  was  useless  to  resist :  the  woman  looked  as  though 
she  would  kill  her  if  she  did  not  comply.  So — the 


THE  PRIEST  WHO  LEERED  291 

smashing,  shattering  irony  of  it! — she  was  apparelled 
in  a  gown  of  shimmering  white  satin.  On  her  head  the 
virago  of  a  "dresser"  placed  a  coronet  of  orange- 
blossom,  and  from  this  hung  a  long,  gossamer  veil 
reaching  to  the  floor.  Her  feet  were  encased  in  dainty 
silver  slippers.  On  her  arm  was  placed  a  sheaf  of 
glorious  Madonna  lilies.  .  .  .  And,  all  the  while,  she 
remained  powerless  to  resist ;  that  was  the  strangest  and 
most  tragical  fact  of  all. 

"Now,  come  with  me !  He  will  be  waiting !"  said  the 
virago.  She  regarded  her  handiwork  with  sardonic  ap- 
proval. 

But  the  door  opened  and  a  man  stepped  in.  With 
a  shudder,  Ann  recoiled  from  him — for  it  was  her 
prospective  bridegroom. 

"My  dear,  may  I  say  how  charming  you  look?"  re- 
marked Sir  Luke  Benisty.  "I  am  proud  to  lead  such  a 
bride  to  the  altar." 

She  could  make  no  reply,  for  it  seemed  that  her 
heart  had  been  turned  to  stone. 

"Time  presses,  or  we  would  be  married  in  Paris," 
continued  Benisty.  "As  it  is,  I  have  arranged  for  the 
ceremony  to  take  place  in  the  Chateau.  Permit  me — 
your  arm,  my  dear  Ann." 

A  few  minutes  later  she  stood  in  a  cold,  vault-like 
room. 

"Centuries  ago,"  she  heard  Benisty  say,  "this  place 
was  used  as  the  private  chapel  of  that  noble  French 
family,  the  de  Guichards.  To-night,  for  the  first  time 
for  two  hundred  years,  a  wedding  ceremony  will  be 


292  THE  BLACK  HEART 

solemnised  here.  Unfortunately,  unforeseen  circum- 
stances prevent  the  principal  witness  from  being  pres- 
ent, but "  he  waved  his  hand; — "you  know  my 

friends  Lade  and  Snell  here?" 

She  saw  the  two  men  quite  clearly,  but,  although 
the  moment  of  her  ruin  was  so  rapidly  approaching, 
she  was  still  unable  to  shake  off  that  fatal  lethargy 
produced  by  some  deadly  drug.  She  was  still  in  a  mental 
trance.  She  felt  like  a  sleep-walker  living  through  a 
somnambulistic  experience.  Whatever  was  about  to 
happen,  she  was  powerless  to  prevent  it. 

Other  people  entered  the  Chapel.  Among  these  was  a 
mincing-mannered  man  whom  Benisty  addressed  as 
"mon  cher  Comte."  It  was  this  man  who,  grimacing, 
now  came  towards  her.  After  fussily  arranging  her 
veil,  he  placed  her  right  hand  on  his  arm  and  led  her 
towards  the  small  altar  where  Sir  Luke  Benisty  was 
already  waiting. 

Who  was  to  marry  them? 

As  though  in  answer  to  this  question,  a  door  to 
the  right  opened.  A  revolting  figure  appeared.  This  man 
was  dressed  as  a  priest — but  the  face  was  the  face  of 
a  lecher.  Horrible,  leering  eyes  showed  above  an  ex- 
panse of  unshaven,  bloated  skin,  mottled  by  drink  and 
debauchery. 

"Ah!"  said  the  bridegroom,  "Monsieur  le  Cure!"  He 
took  his  place  by  the  girl's  side. 

The  priest  walked  towards  them  with  drunken,  un- 
steady steps.  "Mes  enfants,"  he  said,  "are  you  quite 
ready?" 


THE  PRIEST  WHO  LEERED          293 

Ann  had  a  merciful  blackness  come  before  her  eyes. 
A  terrible  weakness  overtook  her.  She  leaned  back,  spent 
and  exhausted. 

She  heard  that  loathsome  priest  chuckle.  The  next 
second  a  sound  filled  the  Chapel. 

A  man's  voice — a  voice  she  felt  she  recognised — 
boomed  out. 

"Hands  up,  everybody !"  it  said,  in  a  tone  of  thunder. 

Then  a  whistle  blew  shrilly — and  after  that  came 
the  sound  of  rushing  footsteps 


Chapter  XXXI 
THE  CLEAN-UP 

A"~N  stood  rigid,  paralysed  by  a  fresh  bewilder- 
ment. For,  as  a  crowd  of  men  came  pouring 
into  the  Chapel  through  the  door  to  the  right 
of  the  altar,   she  saw  the  supposed  drunken  priest, 
standing  upright  and  commanding,  pointing  a  revolver 
straight  at  Sir  Luke  Benisty's  head ! 

"The  game's  up,  Benisty!"  she  heard  shouted  in  a 
grim,  resolute  voice ;  "you'll  be  a  fool  if  you  cause  any 
more  trouble." 

Then,  her  limit  of  endurance  reached,  she  sank  to 
the  stone  floor  in  a  deep  swoon. 

Strong,  faithful  arms  were  about  her.  Opening  her 
eyes,  she  could  scarcely  believe  what  they  saw :  the  man 
with  his  face  so  close  to  hers  was  Gilbert  Chertsey! 

"Ann!— darling!" 

Their  lips  met  and  clung.  In  that  moment  of  de- 
lirious joy  both  felt  that  for  the  travail  they  had  under- 
gone, ample  recompense  was  now  being  paid.  She  was 
the  first  to  recover  normality. 

"That  priest   ...    ?"  she  stared. 

Chertsey  laughed  like  one  to  whom  life  has  become 
a  splendid  thing  again. 

294 


THE  CLEAN-UP  295 

"It  was  Napoleon  Miles,"  he  told  her;  "y°u  know 
the  fellow — he  used  to  play  the  guitar  and  sing  at 
the  Rosy  Dawn  Night  Club.  That  was  only  a  cloak, 
of  course — he  is  really  an  American  Intelligence  man — 
and  the  finest  chap  in  the  world.  We  owe  everything  to 
him." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  Miss  Trentham,"  remarked 
a  familiar  voice.  Looking  up,  Ann  saw  with  amaze- 
ment that  the  speaker  was  indeed  Napoleon  Miles  in  the 
flesh.  The  Secret  Service  man  was  still  wearing  the 
dress  of  a  priest,  but  the  make-up  had  been  removed 
from  his  face. 

"I  must  apologise  for  giving  you  such  a  fright," 
Miles  said  penitently,  "but,  meeting  the  original 
priest — a  fellow  by  the  name  of  Pierre  Gaudet — and 
hearing  from  him  of  the  appointment  he  had  at  this 
Chateau  to-night,  I  decided  to  play  a  trick  after  his 
own  invention  off  on  Benisty." 

"It  was  a  masterpiece!"  declared  Chertsey;  "Sum- 
mers had  hinted  that  you  would  be  knocking  around 
somewhere  by  the  time  the  fun  was  on,  but,  I  swear 
to  God,  that  if  you  hadn't  shouted  when  you  did,  I 
would  have  shot  you  down  myself!" 

Ann  interrupted. 

"But,  Gilbert,  Benisty  said  that  you  were  a  prisoner 
here." 

Again  the  pealing  laugh  rang  out. 

"And  so  I  was  .  .  .  until  a  few  hours  ago.  But 
I  managed  to  get  out  of  the  filthy  cellar — where  our 


296  THE  BLACK  HEART 

mutual  friend  is  now  resting  himself  in  company  with 
about  a  dozen  other  choice  blackguards,  all  rounded 
up  nice  and  shipshape  and  Bristol  fashion  by  Bill  Sum- 
mers and  his  crowd — and — oh,  my  dear,  what  does 
anything  else  matter  now?" 

"What  indeed  ?"  smiled  Napoleon  Miles,  as  he  turned 
away. 

It  was  a  distinguished  and  notable  gathering  which 
met  half  an  hour  later  in  the  huge  Chateau  library.  All 
the  prisoners  had  been  taken  to  Paris,  and  communica- 
tion with  both  London  and  the  French  capital  was  be- 
ing maintained  continuously  by  means  of  the  enemy's 
captured  wireless. 

Sir  William  Bagot  looked  happier  than  he  had  looked 
for  many  days  past. 

"I  am  convinced,"  he  told  Washburn  Rinehart, 
who,  solicitously  attended  by  the  faithful  Dwight,  had 
summoned  up  sufficient  strength  to  attend  this  confer- 
ence, "that  the  plans  of  these  plotters,  gigantic  as  they 
are,  will  now  be  abandoned.  You  will  not  have  suffered 
in  vain,  sir.  What  these  people  were  banking  on  was 
the  certainty  of  striking  a  sudden  blow.  They  reckoned 
as  well  on  the  help  of  America — an  America  tyran- 
nised and  controlled  by  the  Money  Kings  of  Wall 
Street.  Their  psychology  was  ludicrous  in  its  crass 
stupidity,  but  there  you  are !" 

"They  hoped  to  force  the  States  to  get  control  of 
Canada's  wheat,  thus  endangering  England's  food  sup- 
plies. The  result  might  have  been  deplorable." 


THE  CLEAN-UP  297 

Sir  William  glanced  across  at  the  speaker. 

"France  and  Great  Britain  will  never  be  sufficiently 
grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Miles,"  he  said.  "When  every- 
one else  had  failed,  you  were  able  to  locate  this  nest 
of  vipers.  Please  tell  us  how?" 

Napoleon  Miles  acknowledged  the  compliment  with 
a  slight  smile. 

"It  was  comparatively  easy,"  he  replied.  "One  of  my 
friends  is  a  journalist  on  the  Paris  staff  of  the  New 
York  Sentinel.  His  specialty  is  the  Underworld  and 
those  who  live  in  it.  When  every  other  means  to  trace 
Benisty  had  failed,  I  decided  to  go  to  the  sewers  of 
crime.  My  friend  told  me  about  a  certain  haunt  called 
the  Lapin  Blanc.  He  advised  me  not  to  go  alone — but  I 
went.  Disguised  as  an  Apache,  I  had  rather  an  excit- 
ing evening.  It  was  at  the  Lapin  Blanc,"  continued  the 
speaker,  "that  I  met  a  discredited  priest,  Pierre  Gaudet. 
In  his  drunken  state  he  babbled  about  'marrying'  an 
English  milord  at  a  certain  historic  chateau  not  far 
from  Paris.  This  line  of  inquiry  seemed  to  be  worth 
following  up,  and  so  I  accompanied  Gaudet  to  his  so- 
called  home.  There,  applying  a  certain  physical  pres- 
sure, I  got  the  whole  story  out  of  him.  After  that,  I 
thought  it  would  be  rather  a  neat  idea  to  come  here 
'made-up'  as  Gaudet." 

"It  was  such  a  marvellous  impersonation,"  testified 
Gilbert  Chertsey,  who  was  sitting  next  to  Ann  Trent- 
ham,  his  arm  supporting  her,  "that  it  deceived  Benisty 
himself." 


298  THE  BLACK  HEART 

Sir  William  Bagot  drummed  his  fingers  on  the 
table. 

"That  man  must  have  been  half-crazed,"  he  said: 
"why  should  he  want  to  stage  such  a  farce  as  this 
mock-marriage  when  he  must  have  felt  that  so  long 
as  he  stayed  in  the  Chateau  his  skin  was  in  danger?" 

"I  can  answer  that,  sir,"  broke  in  Gilbert  Chertsey. 
"Luke  Benisty  was  not  normal.  He  had  a  mania  for 
ascertaining  how  people  would  behave  in  certain  situa- 
tions. He  had  a  cruel,  malicious  streak  in  him.  In  this 
respect  he  was  undoubtedly  unbalanced.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  being  discharged  from  the  British  Foreign 
Office  years  ago  bred  in  him  a  positive  hatred  for  his 
country." 

"Our  people  had  to  discharge  him — first  he  was  a 
crook,  and  then  he  became  a  traitor,"  put  in  the  Hon. 
Bill  Summers,  looking  across  at  Ann  Trentham. 

The  British  Ambassador  rose  and  crossed  to  Ann'? 
side. 

"Trust  me,  Miss  Trentham,  to  see  that  your  father'* 
honour  is  completely  vindicated.  I  happen  to  know 
the  whole  story.  The  person,  Barrington  Snell,  who  has 
turned  against  his  former  friends,  like  others  of  his 
type,  has  proved  useful,  thoroughly  despicable  as  he  is. 
He  is  ready  to  swear  that  your  father  was  killed — 
'murdered'  would  be  perhaps  the  more  correct  term — • 
by  Sylvester  Lade,  acting  under  the  instructions  of  Sir 
Luke  Benisty." 

"Who  were  the  men  Thibau  and  Lefarge?"  asked 


THE  CLEAN-UP  299 

Chertsey.  "My  God!  I  hope  they  have  been  taken — 
that  devil  Thibau  nearly  killed  me !" 

"They  are  safe  in  a  Paris  prison  by  this  time," 
Napoleon  Miles  assured  him.  "And  all  the  rest  of 
that  German-Russian  gang." 

One  of  the  representatives  of  the  French  Govern- 
ment supplied  the  information  about  the  pale  shadow. 

"The  man  Thibau  has  been  many  things,"  he  ob- 
served ;  "and  none  of  these  has  been  very  creditable.  He 
was  assistant  to  a  doctor  who  was  struck  off  the  medical 
register ;  he  was  private  secretary  to  a  financier  who  is 
now  serving  a  long  term  of  imprisonment  for  em- 
bezzlement, and  he  was  also  connected  with  the  De- 
featist Party  during  the  War.  Lefarge  was  a  cosmo- 
politan scoundrel." 

"And  le  Comte  Rene  de  Guichard?"  inquired  Chert- 
sey. He  was  unable  to  keep  the  sneer  out  of  his  voice. 

The  French  official  waved  protesting  hands. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  he  cried,  passionately;  "is  it  only  in 
France  that  impoverished  noblemen  sell  their  souls  to 
the  Devil  for  money?" 

Even  in  this  age  of  publicity,  some  of  the  greatest 
secrets  never  get  into  the  newspapers.  So  it  was  that 
Europe  which  had  been  tottering  on  the  brink  of  a 
precipice  never  learned  its  danger.  Both  the  French 
and  British  Governments  acted  with  admirable  tact 
and  discretion.  The  Press  of  both  countries  were  called 
to  a  conference,  at  which  the  facts  of  the  amazing 
position  were  placed  plainly  before  them.  Patriotism 


300  THE  BLACK  HEART 

overcame  even  the  tremendous  news-craving  of  the 
listeners,  and  the  result  was  that  not  a  line  about 
the  great  International  drama  was  printed. 

3(£  3ft  ^C  3|C  3|C 

In  a  tiny  villa  perched  precariously  on  the  heights 
overlooking  Cannes,  a  girl  and  a  man  were  endeavour- 
ing to  forget  everything  of  the  past  in  the  joy  of  the 
present. 

"Darling,"  said  Ann  to  her  husband,  "we  have 
been  here  a  month,  and  you  haven't  written  a  line !" 

The  sluggard  raised  himself  and  yawned. 

"I'm  really  going  to  start  a  new  book  to-night, 
sweetheart." 

"A  thriller?" 

Gilbert  Chertsey  rose  and  walked  to  her  chair. 

"No — a  love  story." 

He  bent  to  kiss  her. 


THE   END 


There  s  More  to  Follow* 

More  stories  of  the  sort  you  like; 
more,  probably,  by  the  author  of  this 
one;  more  than  500  titles  all  told  by 
writers  of  world-wide  reputation,  in 
the  Authors'  Alphabetical  List  which 
you  will  find  on  the  reverse  side  of  the 
wrapper  of  this  book.  Look  it  over 
before  you  lay  it  aside.  There  are 
books  here  you  are  sure  to  want — some, 
possibly,  that  you  have  always  wanted. 

It  is  a  selected  list;  every  book  in  it 
has  achieved  a  certain  measure  of 
success. 

The  Grosset  &Z  Dunlap  list  is  not  only 
the  greatest  Iftdex  of  Good  Fiction 
available,  it  represents  in  addition  a 
generally  accepted  Standard  of  Value. 
It  will  pay  you  to 

Look  on  the  Other  Side  of  the  Wrapper  f 

In  case  the  wrapper  is  lost  write  to 
the  publishers  for  a  complete  catalog 


MYSTERY  AND  DETECTIVE  STORIES 

May   be   had   wherever  books   are  sold.     Ask  for   Grosset  and    Dunlap's   List. 

The  following  list  of  novels  by  masters  of  the  art 
of  mystery  and  detective  story  writing  is  qualified  to 
satisfy  the  most  discriminating  of  readers. 

S.  S.  VAN  DINE  AGATHA  CHRISTIE 

The  "  Canary  "  Murder  Case  The  Mystery  of  the  Blue  Train 

The  Greene  Murder  Case  The  Murder  of  Roger  Ackroyd 

The  Bishop  Murder  Case  The  Big  Four 


KAY  CLEAVER  STRAHAN 

__^______^—  The  Mysterious  Affair  at  Styles 

The  Desert  Moon  Mystery 

Footprints  EDGAR  WALLACE 

MARY  ROBERTS   R1NEHART  The  Feathered  Serpent 

_  The  Double 
Two  Plights  Up 

The  Bat 

The  Man  in  Lower  Ten  EARL  DERR  B1GGERS 

The  Circular  Staircase  Behind  That  Curtain 

K.  the  Unknown  Seven  Keys  to  Baldpate 

™ith°U'  *  Kcy 


ANNE  AUSTIN 

_—  ___  —  The  Chinese  Parrot 

The  Black  Pigeon  Fifty  Candles 

BAYARD  VHLLER  BRAM  STOKER 

The  Trial  of  Mary  Dugan  D       I    " 

CYRIL  McNElLE 

D  „  ,     r~  A  CONAN  DOYLE 

Bulldog  Drummond  • 

Bulldog  Drummond's  Third  Round     Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes 
Temple  Tower  The  Hound  of  the  Baskervilles 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


DETECTIVE  STORIES  BY  J.  S.  FLETCHER 


May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dnnlap's  list 


J.  S.  Fletcher's  mystery-detective  stories  of  the  puzzler 
variety  have  made  him  the  generally  acknowledged  suc- 
cessor to  Conan  Doyle  in  this  field. 


THE  PASSENGER  TO  FOLKESTONE 


MARCHESTER  ROYAL 


THE  CARTWRIGHT  GARDENS 


MURDER 


EXTERIOR  TO  THE  EVIDENCE 


THE  MISSING  CHANCELLOR 


GREEN  INK 


FALSE  SCENT 


THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,   Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


STIRRING  TALES  OF  THE  GREAT  WAR 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and   Dunlap's  list. 

ABOVE  THE  BRIGHT  BLUE  SKY.. .Elliot  White  Springs 

More  stories  of  War  Birds  In  the  air,  on  the  ground,  A.  W.  O.  L.  and  at 
the  front,  flyers  who  thought  the  war  ended  too  soon. 

THE  TOP  KICK Leonard  Nason 

Infantry,  cavalry,  artillery,  intelligence — Private  fights  and  Public 
fights— 'Wine,  no  women,  and  cuss  words— France  in  1918. 

SQUAD James  B.  Wharton 

The  war  chronicle  ot  eight  men  out  of  whose  flesh  and  blood  the  small- 
est of  military  units — a  squad— is  made. 

WAR  BIRDS The  Diary  of  an  Unknown  Aviator 

Soaring,  looping,  zooming,  spitting  hails  of  leaden  death,  planes  every- 
where in  a  war  darkened  sky.  'WAR  BIRDS  is  a  tale  of  youth,  loving, 
fighting,  dying. 

SERGEANT  EADIE Leonard  Nason 

This  is  the  private  history  of  the  hard  luck  sergeant  whose  exploits  in 
CHEVRONS  made  that  story  one  of  the  most  dramatic  and  thrilling  of 

WINGS ! John  Monk  Saunders 

Based  on  the  great  Paramount  picture,  "WINGS  is  the  Big  Parade  of  the 
air,  the  gallant,  fascinating  story  of  an  American  air  pilot. 

LEAVE  ME  WITH  A  SMILE EDiots  W.  Springs 

Henry  Winton,  a  famous  ace,  thrice  decorated,  twice  wounded  and 
many  times  disillusioned  returns  after  the  war  to  meet  Phyllis,  one  of  the 
new  order  of  hard-drinking,  unmoral  girls. 

NOCTURNE  MILITAIRE Elliott  White  Springs 

War,  with  wine  and  women,  tales  of  love,  madness,  heroism ;  flyers 
reckless  in  their  gestures  toward  life  and  death. 

CHEVRONS Leonard  Nason 

One  of  the  sensations  of  the  post-war  period,  CHEVRONS  discloses  the 
whole  pageantry  of  war  with  grim  truth  flavored  with  the  breezy  vul- 
garity of  soldier  dialogue. 

THREE  LIGHTS  FROM  A  MATCH.  .Leonard  Nason 

Three  long  short  stories,  each  told  with  a  racy  vividness,  the  real  terror 
in  war  with  the  sputter  of  machine  guns. 

TOWARD  THE  FLAME Hervey  Allen 

A  maelstrom  of  tremendous  incident  along  the  American  Front  during 
the  memorable  summer  of  1918.  Magnificent  and  real. 

THE  LEGION  OF  THE  CONDEMNED 

A  thriller  of  the  eagles  of  the  air,  full  of  romance,  chivalry  and  madcap 
bravery. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    Publishers,    NEW  YORK 


PERC1VALC.  WREN'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grcssat  and  Ounlap's  list 

This  brilliant  chronicler  of  the  French  Foreign  Legion 
is  an  Englishman  born  in  Devonshire  and  educated  at  Ox- 
ford. He  is  a  veteran  of  three  armies,  the  crack  British 
Cavalry  Corps,  the  French  Foreign  Legion  and  the  Indian 
Army  in  East  Africa. 

BEAU  GESTE 

Mystery,  courage,  love,  self  sacrifice,  adventure  on  the  burning 
sands  of  North  Africa — in  the  tanks  of  the  French  Foreign  Legion. 

BEAU  SABREUR 

A  sequel  to  Beau  Geste  in  which  the  age  old  spell  of  the  desert 
is  the  background  for  a  tale  of  mystery. 

STEPSONS  OF  FRANCE 

A  book  of  short  stories  whose  scenes  are  laid  in  the  same  fascin- 
ating and  desolate  country  as  Beau  Geste — Northern  Africa — and 
whose  characters  are  fighters  in  the  Legion. 

WAGES  OF  VIRTUE 

A  modern  Enoch  Arden  reappears  and  goes  back  to  remain 
"  dead  "  in  the  Legion  of  the  Condemned,  but  his  story  comes  out 
at  last 

FATHER  GREGORY 

Mystery  and  Father  Gregory  play  a  desperate  game  on  a  pictur- 
esque background  of  Hindustan.  Written  with  gusto  by  the  author 
of  "Beau  Geste." 

THE  SNAKE  AND  THE  SWORD 

Another  romance  of  the  East  by  the  author  of  the  Foreign  Legion 
stories.  The  fascinating  mystery  of  Kipling's  India  is  the  back- 
ground for  a  strange  love. 

DRIFTWOOD  SPARS 

The  soul  of  a  man  in  whose  soul  the  East  and  West  has  met — 
his  father  of  Pathan  birth,  his  mother  of  Scotch.  Laid  in  India,  «t 
is  a  romance  of  mystery  and  tragedy. 

DEW  AND  MILDEW 

A  story  built  around  a  series  of  coincidences — East  of  Suez  coin- 
cidences flourish  and  sometimes  attains  a  remarkably  fine  growth. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


NOVELS  OF  MAY  CHRISTIE 

THRILLING  STORIES  OF  THE  MODERN  GIRL 

May  be  had  wherever  book*  are  sold.     Ask  for   Grosset  &    Dunlap's   list 

May  Christie  has  captured  the  affection  of  millions  of 
readers  with  her  brilliantly  written  romances.  She  has  the 
ability  to  arouse  intense  interest  and  sympathy  and  the 
pages  of  her  books  are  populated  with  men  and  women 
of  real  flesh  and  blood.  Her  stories  are  of  modern  life 
and  especially  of  the  girls  of  today  who  are  breaking 
away  from  the  restraint  of  old  fashioned  life  and  plunging 
into  the  freedom  that  new  ideals  bring.  In  all  her  stories, 
May  Christie  has  something  to  say  and  says  it  with  frank- 
ness and  honesty. 

A  KISS  FOR  CORINNA 

Corinna  is  in  love  with  a  man  who  is  pursued  by  a  pleasure  seeking 
society  girl — and  the  irony  of  the  situation  is  that  it  is  her  duty  to 
make  this  girl  beautiful.  A  fascinating  story  of  the  twists  and  turns 
in  rivalry  and  love. 

EAGER  LOVE 

The  story  of  Mary  Oliver,  whose  quest  for  love  carries  her  into 
a  dramatic  and  exciting  situation.  A  lovable  and  very  human  hero- 
ine— one  who  has  all  the  fine  instincts  which  tend  to  build  character 
in  a  woman. 

MAN  MADNESS 

Three  girls  in  love  with  one  man.  To  what  lengths  they  will  go  to 
win  his  love.  Love,  sacrifice,  passion,  conflict,  duty, — these  are  some 
of  the  elements  that  go  to  make  "Man  Madness"  a  thrilling  story  cf 
modern  life. 

LOVE'S  ECSTASY 

A  little  stenographer  fighting  for  her  love  against  a  fascinating 
young  mistress  of  millions.  A  duel  of  feminine  wits  and  wiles  that 
you  will  follow  with  burning  interest.  It  is  a  romance  of  surprising 
twists  and  turns. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


MARGARET  PEDLER'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  'sold.     Ask  .for  Grosset  and   Dunlap's  List. 


BITTER  HERITAGE 

She  learned  that  her  father,  the  man  she  had  idolized,  was  a  thief 
and  a  swindler — a  bitter  heritage  not  to  be  escaped. 

YESTERDAY'S  HARVEST 

The  harvest  of  an  early  love  brings  a  strange  situation  and  triumph 
of  sacrifice. 

TOMORROWS  TANGLE 

The  game  of  love  is  fraught  with  danger.  To  win  in  the  finest  sense 
it  must  be  played  fairly. 

RED  ASHES 

A  gripping1  story  of  a  doctor  who  failed  in  a  crucial  operation  and 
had,  only  himself  to  blame.  Could  the  woman  he  loved  forgive  him. 

THE  BARBARIAN  LOVER 

A  love  story  based  upon  the  creed  that  the  only  important  things 
between  birth  and  death  are  the  courage  to  face  We  and  the  love 
to  sweeten  it. 

THE  MOON  OUT  OF  REACH 

Nan  Davenport's  problem  is  one  that  many  a  girl  has  faced — her 
own  happiness  or  her  father's  bond. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 

How  a  man  and  a  woman  fulfilled  a  gypsy's  prophecy. 

THE  HERMIT  OF  FAR  END 

How  love  made  its  way  into  a  walled-in  house  and  a  walled-in  heart. 

THE  LAMP  OF  FATE 

The  story  of  a  woman  who  tried  to  take  all  and  give)  nothing. 

THE  SPLENDID  FOLLY 

Do!  you  believe  that  husbands  and  wives  should  have  no  secrets 
from  each  other? 

THE  VISION  OF  DESIRE 

It  is  easy  to  destroy  illusions,  difficult  to  restore  them.  Anne  re- 
stored love  from  the  ashes  of  disillusion 

WAVES  OF  DESTINY 

Each  of  these  stories  has  the  sharp  impact  of  an  emotional  crisis — 
the  compressed  quality  of  one  of  Margaret  Pedlar's  widely  reid  novels. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS  OF  TEMPLE  BAILEY 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dnnlap's  list 

THE  BLUE  WINDOW~ 

The  heroine,  Hildegarde,  finds  herself  transplanted  from  the  middle 
western  farm  to  the  gay  social  whirl  of  the  East.  She  is  almost  swept  off 
her  feet,  but  in  the  end  she  proves  true  blue. 

PEACOCK  FEATHERS 

The  eternal  conflict  between  wealth  and  love.  Jerry,  the  idealist  who 
is  poor,  loves  Mimi,  a  beautiful,  spoiled  society  girl. 

THE  DIM  LANTERN 

The  romance  of  little  Jane  Barnes  who  is  loved  by  two  men. 

THE  GAY  COCKADE 

Unusual  short  stories  where  Miss  Bailey  shows  her  keen  knowledge  of 
character  and  environment,  and  how  romance  comes  to  different  people. 

THE  TRUMPETER  SWAN 

Randy  Paine  comes  back  from  France  to  the  monotony  of  every-day 
affairs.     But  the  girl  he  loves  shows  him  the  beauty  in  the  common  place. 

THE  TIN  SOLDIER 

A  man  who  wishes  lo  serve  his  country,  but  is  bound  by  a  tie  he  can- 
not in  honor  break — that's  Deny.  A  girl  who  loves  him,  shares  his  hu- 
miliation and  helps  him  to  win — that's  Jean.  Their  love  is  the  story. 

MISTRESS  ANNE 

A  girl  in  Maryland  teaches  school,  and  believes  that  work  is  worthy 
service.  Two  men  come  to  the  little  community ;  one  is  weak,  the  other 
strong,  and  both  need  Anne. 

CONTRARY  MARY 

An  old-fashioned  love  story  that  is  nevertheless  modem. 

GLORY  OF  YOUTH 

A  novel  that  deals  with  a  question,  old  and  yet  ever  new — how  fa- 
should  an  engagement  of  marriage  bind  two  persons  who  discover  they  BO 
longer  love. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


PETER  B.    KYNE'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for   Grosset  &   Ounlap's  list 

THE  THUNDER  GOD 

A  romance  of  big  business,  men  fighting    for  enormous  stakes  and  of 
the  brilliant  projects  of  one  man,  a  scientist. 

THEY  ALSO  SERVE 

The  story  of  a  cowboy's  horse  that  served  in  France  with  the  artillery. 

THE  UNDERSTANDING  HEART 

Men  said  Monica  Dale  had  the  understanding  heart  of  a  woman  and  the 
soul  of  a  gallant  gentleman. 

MONEY  TO  BURN 

The  exciting  adventures  of  Elmer  Clarke  with  his  suddenly  acquired 
million. 

THE  ENCHANTED  HILL 

The  struggle  for  honor  and  the  Enchanted  Hill  Ranch  in  the  Southwest. 

NEVER  THE  TWAIN  SHALL  MEET 

A  romance  of  California  and  the  South  Seas. 

THE  PRIDE  OF  PALOMAR 

'When  two  men  clash  and  the  under-dog  has  Irish  blood  In  his  veins — a 
tale  Kyne  can  tell. 

CAPPY  RICKS 

Cappy  Ricks  gave  Matt  Peasley  the  acid  test  because  he  knew  it  was 
good  for  his  soul. 

CAPPY  RICKS  RETIRES 

Cappy  retires  but  the  romance  of  the  sea  and  business  kept  calling  him 
back  and  he  comes  back  strong. 

KINDRED  OF  THE  DUST 

Donald  McKay,  son  of  Hector  McKay,  millionaire  lumber  king,  falls  in 
love  with  "  Nan  of  the  Sawdust  pile." 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  GIANTS 

The  fight  of  the  Cardigans,  father  and  son,  to  hold  the  valley  of  the  giants 
against  treachery. 

WEBSTER,  MAN'S  MAN 

The  adventures  of  a  man  and  woman  in  a  Central  American  revolution 
A  real  soldier  of  fortune  story. 

CAPTAIN  SCRAGGS 

This  sea  yarn  recounts  the  adventures  of  three  rapscallion  seafaring  men. 

THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Harley  P.'Hennage  is  a  gambler,  the  best  and  worst  man  of  San  Pasqual, 
and  there  is  the  lovely  Donna.  ^ 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap'sllst 

WILD  HORSE  MESA 

NEVADA 

FORLORN  RIVER 

UNDER  THE  TONTO  RIM 

THE  VANISHING  AMERICAN 

TAPPAN'S  BURRO 

THE  THUNDERING  HERD 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  CANYON 

WANDERER  OF  THE  WASTELAND 

THE  DAY  OF  THE  BEAST 

TO  THE  LAST  MAN 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  RIDER 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST 

THE  DESERT  OF  WHEAT 

THE  U.  P.  TRAIL 

WILDFIRE 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

DESERT  GOLD 

BETTY  ZANE 

ZANE  GREY'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

ROPING  LIONS  IN  THE  GRAND  CANYON 

THE  RED-HEADED  OUTFIELD 

KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 

THE  YOUNG  LION  HUNTER 

THE  YOUNG  FORESTER 

THE  YOUNG  PITCHER 

THE  SHORT  STOP 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    Publishers,    NEW  YORK 


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